


Hallowed Fate

by Eressë (eresse21)



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Fourth Age, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-12
Updated: 2014-04-11
Packaged: 2018-01-14 13:08:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 58,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1267603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eresse21/pseuds/Eress%C3%AB
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the paths of an Elvenlord and a Prince of Men cross, not only their lives are changed but their destinies as well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> _The characters belong to the wizard of storytelling himself, JRR Tolkien and/or his estate. No offence is intended or profit made in my use of them._
> 
> The genealogy of the Princes of Dol Amroth in _The Peoples of Middle-earth_ indicates that Imrahil was born in T.A. 2955 and passed away in F.A. 34 when he was 99-years-old. This is not considered canon in the strictest sense, as it isn’t included in LotR. But it was this entry that gave me the inspiration for this story and its resolution. The ending is slightly AU but I prefer to think of it as “undocumented.”

Minas Tirith, _Gwaeron_ T.A. 3019  
The first time Imrahil, Prince of Dol Amroth, laid eyes on Elladan of Imladris was on the plains of the Pelennor as the fighting raged before the walls of Minas Tirith.

The Steward had immolated himself and his son lay as if dead in the Houses of Healing. The old king of the Riddermark was no more and his sister-son now led the Rohirrim. If not for the White Rider, despair would have taken them all. And it nearly did when the black ships of the enemy corsairs came down Anduin, promising reinforcements for their already numerous foes.

It was then that he saw the Elvenlord leaping down lightly from the first ship, two other Elves by his side; one so alike to him that Imrahil had wondered if his eyes deceived him, the other with hair as bright as the sun itself. He had watched in awe as the warrior that was Elrond’s older son decimated all who dared to assail him, standing his ground by his mortal war-brothers, protecting the valiant Ranger who was heir to the winged crown of Gondor and staving off assault after assault with peerless skill, valor and strength.

The first time the late Steward’s kinsman exchanged greetings with the elder of the Peredhil twins was in the Houses of Healing after the Battle of the Pelennor Fields. The Elf-warrior and his brother Elrohir had accompanied Aragorn while the king moved amongst the wounded and dying, giving aid to the former and succor to the latter. The hands of the king were indeed the hands of a healer. But there was no doubt as to who had helped train those hands.

Pain and fear receded under the Elves’ soothing fingers, as gentle in caring as they were fearsome in killing. And grey eyes and tender smiles conveyed more comfort than all the words of the healers of the city.

The first time the Belfalas prince spoke long and tellingly with the Elf-lord was the following evening in the encampment before the Guarded City. Earlier in the day, the decision had been made to march to Mordor itself. To use the Men of the West as a diversion and draw Sauron’s eye away from his realm and the Ring-bearer. In later years, Imrahil would ponder the serendipity of that moment.

“May I be of service, my prince?”

Imrahil turned sharply and found himself gazing into the comeliest face he had ever had the good fortune to come across. For a moment, he was unable to speak, taken as he was by the pair of pewter eyes that gazed back at him. When he did find his tongue it was only because the Elf took his hand and bent to examine the deep gash that ran across the back of it.

He had not meant to reveal his injury to any by leaving his tent with his hand unbound. But he had heard a commotion and come out to see what was afoot. It turned out to be no more than the beginnings of a brawl between two drunken soldiers. Their captain had swiftly put an end to the encounter and disciplined both malefactors before the fight escalated. Relieved, Imrahil had stayed just outside the entrance of his tent awhile taking in the night air.

Before he could go back in, Elladan had come upon him.

“‘Tis but a scratch,” he protested, then winced as stabbing pain lanced through his hand when the Elf-lord probed the wound.

Elladan glanced up at him, his fine mouth curling into an amused grin. The very sight made Imrahil’s mouth go dry much to the man’s befuddlement.

“If this is but a scratch, then Sauron is naught but a gadfly sent from up on high to plague us,” the Elf remarked chidingly. “You should have had a healer look at this. ‘Tis a wonder it has not festered as yet.”

Imrahil shook his head. “There are others far more in need of their attention,” he said. “And there are not enough healers as it is.”

“Then let me see to this,” Elladan offered. “It is fortunate ‘tis not your sword hand that was wounded.”

Imrahil acceded. In mere moments it seemed, Elladan had gone to his own tent, which he shared with his brother, and come back with a small wooden box filled with an assortment of medicaments and suturing material. He led Imrahil back into his tent and gestured to him to sit down.

“It will need to be sewn,” Elladan explained. “Else it will not heal properly.”

Imrahil nodded. He waited while Elladan cleansed a needle, soaking it in strong ale for some minutes before threading it. 

In the ensuing quiet, the older twin took the time to study his patient.

The prince was dark haired as were all his men. However, Imrahil’s tresses were not black but a rich chestnut hue. And his eyes were an unusual grey-tinged aquamarine akin to the color of the ocean where it ran deepest. Fitting for a ruler of a seaward realm, the Elvenlord thought.

Needle in hand, he sank down before Imrahil, the simple movement imbued with such steely grace that the prince could not help staring.

He had expected some pain when the needle pierced his flesh and the thread was drawn through it. But to his surprise, he felt naught but the mildest sting. More like a slight pinch than a sharp prick. He looked in wonder at the Elvenlord. Elladan only glanced at him once as he deftly closed the wound and that once his eyes gleamed reassuringly.

He worked quickly and before Imrahil realized it, he was done and the wound neatly sutured. A thin but thorough application of a paste of healing herbs followed. And then Elladan was binding his hand with a fresh bandage. Imrahil flexed his hand experimentally and found he could freely move it without discomfort.

“The stitches can come out in a week’s time,” Elladan told him. “Any healer can see to it.”

Imrahil looked at him gratefully. “My thanks,” he said. “How may I repay you?”

Elladan regarded him thoughtfully. “Would you take a walk with me?” he suggested.

Imrahil looked at him in surprise but quickly agreed. He rose and followed Elladan out. He waited but seconds for the Elf-lord to return his healing supplies to his tent. As Elladan emerged from it, he glimpsed the warrior’s twin within, seated on his pallet.

Elladan came back to him and with a slight tilt of his head, indicated which direction he wished to take. To Imrahil’s puzzlement, the Elf led them through the center of the camp instead of heading directly for the outskirts. A few tents away, he espied the one shared by the Elven prince Legolas and his Dwarf comrade Gimli. No candle burned within; he could not see the silhouette of the slumbering Dwarf.

Legolas of Mirkwood sat before it, looking just the least bit restless. But as they neared, he seemed to sense a fellow Elf’s presence and he looked up. Something must have passed between him and Elladan for the archer’s blue eyes suddenly lighted up. He rose to his feet in an instant and swiftly strode back the way his friend and the Dol Amroth prince had come.

Curious, Imrahil watched his progress and was startled when the archer quickly slipped into the brethren’s tent. A moment later, the glow of the candle within was extinguished. He stared at the now darkened tent. And wondered.

Turning, he saw that Elladan was smiling faintly. The Elf led the way out of the camp and soon they were treading the open plain. The ground beneath their feet was scarred by battle and every now and then, they came upon the remains of armor or weaponry left upon the field. They walked in affable silence for a while.

At length, Imrahil’s curiosity got the better of him and he looked at his companion. Really looked at him. That proved unwise for, in the argent moonlight, the Elf’s beauty had become even more apparent and so overcame him that it precluded speech for a while longer.

Elladan had bound his raven locks into a single thick plait in the manner of the Horse-lords. The style emphasized the fine lines and features of his countenance—the high sculpted cheekbones, the patrician mold of his nose, the proud chin and sinuous lips, the elegant curve of his eyebrows and the impossibly thick lashes that framed the dark eyes that had so fascinated Imrahil at first sight.

The prince’s reaction was all too predictable. At least, had he been an Elf, it would have been predictable. He felt his heart beat faster and his breath turn shallower. Imrahil strove to calm his suddenly inflamed senses.

What was the matter with him for Eru’s sake? This was no lush maiden beside him and he was no virginal youth to be so easily overcome by mere loveliness. He shook his head inwardly, trying to clear it of his unruly thoughts. Valar, the Elf was no maiden at all! Why was he reacting so strangely?

Firmly getting a hold of himself, he forced his thoughts back to the Elf-lord’s twin and the Mirkwood prince.

“Your brother and the Wood-elf?” he ventured hesitantly. “Are they—?” He trailed off awkwardly. The question was as inappropriate as his thoughts had been a moment ago. Where had his manners gone? Not to mention his common sense.

But Elladan only said, “Lovers, aye. But binding-mates, not yet. Though I doubt that will be long in coming now that we are willfully marching into darkness.”

Imrahil stared at him in shock. “Binding-mates?” he repeated.

Elladan regarded him musingly. They had come to a stop upon a clean, grassy patch of land. The Elf seemed to relish the faint scent of the untainted growth as evinced by the deep breaths he took of it.

“You are sprung from an Elven foremother,” Elladan pointed out. “Surely you are aware of our traditions.”

Imrahil shook his head ruefully. “I have read of them,” he admitted. “But book-learning is different from actual evidence. I was not prepared.”

“And it has been discouraged in your family for many generations now,” Elladan commented knowingly.

Imrahil nodded. “Men do not accept such practices,” he said. “Our own people might very well turn against us for indulging in something they consider unnatural.”

“Not to mention that it would not produce future princes to rule Dol Amroth,” Elladan said wryly. “Yet it is in your blood,” he reminded Imrahil. “I warrant you at least must have felt something of it though you were not free to act on it.”

“I at least?”

Elladan smiled and, before Imrahil could react, reached up and tucked the prince’s hair behind his ear. The slightest trace of a peak marked the upper tip of it.

“Elven blood runs true in your veins, my prince, and far more strongly than in your brethren or sons,” Elladan said. “I sense our kinship in you as I do not in them.”

Imrahil fell silent for a spell. “So it is said,” he murmured. “There are chronicles in the libraries in Dol Amroth pertaining to that. Of certain of my ancestors who were extraordinarily long-lived and aged only slowly.”

“As you do,” Elladan said. “You could pass for one of your younger kinsmen. Indeed, some years from now, you may well pass for one of your own sons.”

Imrahil sighed. “I am not certain if that is a boon or bane,” he said. “I do not desire to be left alone while all whom I love go before me one by one. ‘Twould be unbearably lonely.”

He was startled by the feel of the Elf’s hand on his arm. Elladan was looking compassionately at him.

“Forgive me,” he said quietly. “I did not mean to upset you.”

Imrahil compelled himself to meet the Elf’s gaze. “I know you did not,” he replied. “And I must confess I enjoy your company even if it is just this once.”

The Elvenlord’s eyes glittered. “It need not be only this once,” he softly amended. “If we defeat the enemy, there will be time enough to spend in each other’s company. I would like to know you better, Prince Imrahil.”

The prince felt a pleasant thrill snake up his spine. “And I you, Lord Elladan,” he murmured.

Elladan smiled warmly at him. “Come, we must rest,” he said. “Our toils are far from done and tomorrow will demand much from us anew.”

They returned to the camp still chatting companionably. When Elladan stopped in front of Legolas’ tent, however, Imrahil looked at him quizzically. “Your tent is still yonder,” he said.

Elladan grinned. “My brother will not care for other company this night save Legolas’s,” he chuckled. “I will stay here.” A moment later, he frowned as an improbably loud noise issued from within. Elladan grimaced. “Though how Legolas can sleep through the Dwarf’s snores is beyond me!”

Imrahil smiled sympathetically. On impulse, he said, “I share my tent with no one and I have an extra pallet. You are very welcome to join me. I promise you, I am a quiet sleeper.”

Elladan laughed softly, the sound of which made Imrahil’s skin simmer unexpectedly. “I will hold you to that promise, my prince,” the Elf said.

As he led the way back, Imrahil wondered if _he_ would get any sleep at all that night.

**************  
Glossary:  
Gwaeron - Sindarin for March

_To be continued…_


	2. Learning

Midsummer’s Day T.A. 3019  
There had not been in recent memory as many fair folk within Minas Tirith’s walls as those that escorted the Evenstar to the Guarded City. Elves from Rivendell, the Havens and the Golden Wood had come south to witness the third binding between the races of Elves and Men. Clad in silver and white, they inspired awe and admiration and, admittedly, even some yearnings of the flesh. But despite the presence of such magnificent _Edhil_ as Celeborn and Galadriel and Glorfindel, Imrahil could not take his eyes off the Peredhil.

He had marveled at the comeliness of the Firstborn when they came to the gates of Minas Tirith. Certainly, he could not blame Aragorn for being so besotted with his bride or begrudge him the patently enthusiastic welcome he bestowed upon her. But he found himself wondering if her allure was as much because of her Peredhil heritage as her elvish beauty.

They were not like Men, but neither were they completely akin to other Edhil, he realized. That set them apart and gave them an almost exotic appeal that lured mortals and immortals alike. In appearance alone they were somewhat different. Though taller and far more slender than humans, they were also more solid of frame than the Elves as evinced by Elrond and the twins’ broader shoulders and chests and Arwen’s more buxom figure.

They were beautiful beyond compare even amongst their own kind. Small wonder that Legolas was so enamored of Elrond’s younger son.

He observed the twins anew as he mingled with the wedding guests in vast Merethrond. The nuptial celebrations were winding down and already Aragorn had spirited his new queen away to their marriage chamber to the ribald remarks of kith and kin alike. That kith and kin included Elves had been a matter of astonishment to many. It seemed incongruous that such graceful, elegant creatures were capable of earthy utterances.

But the brethren Elladan and Elrohir had proven the most wicked tongued of all, actually reducing their king-brother to blushes with their lubricious rejoinders. Even as Imrahil had laughed himself breathless, he had wondered at their seemingly endless capacity for bawdy humor.

Was it only a few months ago that they had been in the thick of one of the bloodiest conflicts in Gondor’s history? Had these two merry beings actually taken part in the soul-rending battle before the Morannon? Yet Imrahil had vivid memories of their formidable abilities. Along with the Mirkwood Elf, they had evoked images of what an entire elven army of ancient times must have been capable.

Just as his eyes alighted on them, he became aware that they were watching him. And they were watching him with the same look of admiration with which the mortal guests continued to regard the Elves. That took him aback. What could they possibly see in him that was no doubt thrice as much in their fellows?

His gaze met Elladan’s for a moment. The older twin’s eyes glittered appreciatively. That effectively took Imrahil’s breath away and he averted his eyes. 

Elbereth! he thought in confusion. Why did that look affect me so? The last time he had felt almost as giddy was nigh two score years ago when he had won his lady wife’s heart. But even his feeling of elation then was nothing in comparison to the strange emotions the Elvenlord now elicited from him with no more than a gaze.

He shivered inwardly and hastened to join the company of his three sons. He had to rid himself of such unseemly reactions. In turning away, he missed the brethren’s amused smiles.

“I fear you have discomfited him, _muindor_ ”—brother—Elrohir grinned. “Truly, you must rein in your regard else you will have him fleeing to Belfalas.”

Elladan chuckled. “Did you mark his surprise at being perused so?” he commented. “You would think he was not aware of his beauty.”

“Most likely he is not,” Elrohir said. “Or does not give much import to it. But, aye, he is beautiful. It would not be surprising should one desire to know him more intimately.”

“I do not believe you care to incur Legolas’s ire,” Elladan idly chided him.

“And I was referring to someone else’s desire, not mine,” was Elrohir’s mild retort. His grin widened as his brother’s eyes turned back to the prince.

Imrahil was indeed a fine specimen of his race. Truth be told, he could even be mistaken for one of the Peredhil.

He had their height and lean frames coupled with the meatier limbs and wider shoulders of a man. But he was tanned where they were fair, his near golden complexion evidence of his sea-faring heritage. His countenance however was of such youth and comeliness, it was difficult to believe that this was a man in his sixty-fourth year of life. He looked no older than the youngest of his kinsmen and little more in years than his oldest son Elphir who was but in his early thirties. 

In Imrahil, the lore of elven forebears in Belfalas’s ruling family was shown to be founded on truth.

“Shall I ask him to join us tonight?” Elrohir offered.

Elladan glanced at his brother. “If it pleases you,” he replied casually.

Elrohir laughed softly. His twin could not hide his pleasure at the suggestion; not from him at any rate. “As it pleases you, it pleases me,” he said. And he left Elladan’s side to extend the invitation to the prince.

Which is how Imrahil came to be in the twins’ bedchamber that evening as they whiled away the last hours of the night with wine and talk and intermittent games of Strategy. 

While Legolas and the other members of the Fellowship shared a house near the White Tower, Elrond and his sons, being close kin to the King and Queen, had been provided with chambers within the great hall that presently served as the residential pavilion for the royal couple. As befit his position as the head of the one of the highest-ranking families in Gondor after the King’s, second only to the Steward’s, Imrahil had also been afforded quarters within along with his sons.

He watched Elrohir and Legolas with ill-concealed fascination. As he had told Elladan, he had read of such matters but to know something was vastly different from seeing it with his own eyes. The open affection with which the two treated each other was something of a novelty to him though, surprisingly, he did not find it abhorrent in the least.

“Would you care to satisfy my curiosity about something?” he said at length after watching a well-contested game between the Elf-knight and the woodland prince. At Elladan’s encouraging nod, he said, “I am not completely unaware of your kindred’s history. Mithrandir oft came to Dol Amroth when I was a lad and told me much about your realms up north. In particular, he told me of the Peredhil. Of your choice.” When none interrupted, he went on. “You speak of the future as if you will remain in Middle-earth even after Lord Elrond departs these lands.”

“We will remain,” Elladan affirmed.

“But are you not supposed to accompany your sire when he leaves?” Imrahil said with a frown. “Unless it is your intent to forfeit your immortality. And I cannot believe you would do that under the circumstances,” he added with a pointed look at Elrohir.

“Nor could I,” Legolas smiled, reaching across the gaming table to clasp the younger twin’s hand. “But it is already decided. He has chosen his fate.”

“And as my brother has chosen, so have I,” Elladan said. “But as to your question, ‘tis true that it was once demanded of us that we leave Middle-earth with our father.”

“But that changed when we made our choice ere that moment,” Elrohir continued. “We have been granted the grace to stay on in Middle-earth for a time. In return, we have vowed to take our leave of these lands when Círdan the shipwright chooses to go.”

Imrahil frowned. “And when will that be?” he asked.

The twins shrugged in concert. “We do not know,” Elladan said. “We only hope it will not be before our sister bears her first child.”

“As things stand, Arwen may be the only one of us to spawn a new generation of Peredhil,” Elrohir smiled.

”And Legolas?” Imrahil queried, glancing at the archer. “Will he leave as well?”

“Only if Estel has passed from this world by then,” Elrohir sighed, looking at his mate.

“I swore to serve Aragorn until his dying day,” Legolas said. “Had I but realized what it would demand of us...” He returned Elrohir’s gaze sadly.

“We will be together once more, _melethron_ ”—lover—Elrohir softly reassured him. “Rest assured I will await you no matter how many years should pass.”

Imrahil stared at them with sudden understanding. He glanced at Elladan. “You told me that they were not yet bound, but that is no longer true,” he stated.

“Ah, did Estel tell you?” Elladan asked.

Imrahil shook his head. “Nay, no one has said anything to me.”

“Then how did you know?” Legolas queried.

“I saw it in your eyes,” Imrahil said. “There is a connection between you that was not there before.”

The Elves stared at him in surprise then regarded him thoughtfully. So intense was their scrutiny of him that he began to feel uneasy.

“Fascinating,” Elrohir murmured.

“Aye, it is,” Elladan agreed. He addressed a confused Imrahil. “Only Elves can discern the marital state of other Elves in the manner you stated. For you to have done so makes you far more elven than any of us suspected.”

It was Imrahil’s turn to stare. “Then it seems the stories of my foremother are true after all,” he murmured.

“Why do you speak of her as if you doubt her existence?” Legolas asked curiously.

“Because many _do_ doubt it,” Imrahil explained. “‘Tis often regarded as unfounded lore even amongst my own kin.”

Elladan shook his head. “‘Tis not unfounded in the least,” he said. “All Elfdom knows of Mithrellas and how she sought refuge for a while with Imrazör, the founder of your line. Indeed, it has always been a matter of puzzlement to us that their son, Galador, was not offered the choice of the Half-elven.” And then he grinned at the prince. “But then again, had the offer been made and had he chosen to be of the Firstborn, you may never have been born, O Prince.”

Imrahil had to smile. “Then it is fortunate the offer was never made,” he agreed. “Though it is just as possible that he might have chosen to be a Man. As your father’s brother did.”

“And as we might have,” Elladan added. “But for circumstances as you put it.” He chuckled at Elrohir’s sudden expression of impatience. “Ah, I believe we have outstayed our welcome, Imrahil. I am being asked quite unsubtly to leave for all that this also my room.”

Imrahil looked from one grinning brother to the other then glanced at Legolas who simply rolled his eyes in resignation. “But where will you stay then?” he inquired. And then, before Elladan could reply, his eyes widened and he said, “Surely not with the Dwarf!”

That elicited guffaws from all three Elves. “Unfortunately, I have no choice,” Elladan said in a suffering tone. “There are too many guests and not enough rooms to house them. I will simply have to make do. And demand recompense for my kindness at a later date.”

“Is my undying gratitude not enough, _tôr guar_?”—older brother—Elrohir said.

“Only if it can be turned to practical use, _gwanneth_ ”—younger twin—Elladan countered. “Come, my friend, let us leave them to their own devices. Trust me when I say you do not wish to be anywhere near enough to hear them!”

He laughed as a pillow collided with the closing door, courtesy of a red-faced Legolas. He laughed even louder when he espied Imrahil’s expression.

“Pay us no mind,” he said as he led the prince down the corridor. “It has always been thus between us. And it is hard to resist teasing Legolas as he is notoriously difficult to abash.”

Imrahil could not help a snicker. “I wish I could offer you refuge in my room as I did my tent, but unfortunately, I share it with Amrothos,” he said almost apologetically.

“Your youngest son.”

“Aye.”

Elladan frowned. “Well, do not worry about me,” he said somewhat grimly. “If Gimli’s snores get too loud for comfort, I can always gag him and stuff him in a closet.”

Imrahil stared at him, uncertain whether the Elf-lord was serious or not.

Elladan took pity on him and said: “Nay, we were only jesting. I have already arranged to stay with my father.”

Imrahil shook his head, thinking of the mirth the brethren had earlier provoked during the feast. “I confess, you are not at all like what I had expected of Elves,” he admitted.

“Half-elves,” Elladan amended. “Though to mortals’ eyes, there is no distinction between us and pure-blooded _Edhil_.”

“Does it disturb you that you are different?” Imrahil queried.

“Nay, why should it?” Elladan replied. “Except perhaps for the choice we had to make. ‘Twas the one matter that shadowed our lives for so long.”

Imrahil pondered this. “You only made your choice recently,” he guessed. “When your brother and Legolas bound to each other.”

Elladan regarded him with even more admiration. “You are perceptive beyond belief, Imrahil,” he remarked.

The man’s cheeks colored somewhat at the compliment. A charming sight, Elladan thought.

“But when?” Imrahil asked, his brow creasing in puzzlement. “I cannot recall any time after our victory in Mordor wherein they spent much time together much less exchanged any vows. Indeed, you left for Rohan so soon after that I wondered what was amiss.”

They came to a halt before the prince’s door. “They bound to each other the eve of our departure for Mordor,” Elladan quietly informed him.

“What?” Imrahil responded, startled.

“Even had the greatest evil befallen all of us, their joining assured them of the eternal oneness of their spirits,” Elladan explained.

Imrahil was duly impressed. “And your sister has chosen to forsake your kindred that she may be with Elessar evermore,” he murmured. “You Peredhil certainly know the meaning of love.”

“I wish that were so,” Elladan commented. “I cannot claim to know it yet.” He shrugged and smiled. “Some day mayhap. Goodnight, my prince.”

As he went past Imrahil, his hand brushed against the man’s thigh, dangerously close to his groin. The prince could not help gasping at the sensation it evoked. 

He stared after the Elvenlord as the other went on down the corridor to the room at its end. Just before he entered it, Elladan glanced back at the flustered man. And then he smirked in sheer, unadulterated mischief.

Imrahil hastily retreated into the safety of his own bedchamber.

*************  
Glossary:  
Edhil - Elves

_To be continued…_


	3. Restraint

Edoras, _Úrui_ T.A. 3019  
“‘Tis nothing like Minas Tirith, is it?” Erchirion murmured.

Imrahil smiled at his second son. “Nay, it is not as ancient in years or spirit,” he agreed.

It was their third day in Edoras, the capital of Rohan, but Imrahil and his sons had not yet quite accustomed themselves to the more primal atmosphere of this young kingdom of men. That sense of immense age and deep knowledge did not pervade the Horse-lords’ city as it did Minas Tirith.

But Edoras was by no means less charming. It was merely different having come of age in a later day. And it was vibrant with life and energy. The Rohirrim bore none of the world-weary airs that some of Gondor’s citizens carried about them. In terms of whole civilizations, Rohan was not yet in the prime of its life.

Imrahil and Erchirion stood upon the paved terrace before the great doors of Meduseld and looked upon the city. Below they espied a group of Elves walking down the winding main road, their lengthy tresses flowing in the slight breeze. Erchirion regarded them thoughtfully.

“They do not quite fit here,” he remarked, nodding in their direction. “If one were to believe the tales of their ages, they belong more in Minas Tirith than in so young a country.”

“You may believe the tales,” Imrahil said. “There are none amongst our Elven companions who are younger than five centuries at least.”

Erchirion stared at the Elves in some amazement then glanced at his father. “How do you know this?”

“Elrond’s sons told me,” the prince replied.

“You spend much time in their company,” Erchirion mused. “What is it that you find so interesting that you seek them out?”

“Knowledge,” Imrahil said. “There is much they know that is not from books but is actual lore to them.”

“Such as?”

“Imrazör and Mithrellas.”

Erchirion stared at him. “Then, she is in truth our foremother?” When Imrahil nodded, he queried: “But how can Elrond’s sons be certain of this?”

“They were already approaching their two thousandth year of life when Dol Amroth was but a speck in Galador’s mind.”

Erchirion whistled at the information. “And their friend, the Mirkwood prince?”

“Nay, he is younger than they. Young even by the reckoning of their kindred for he is but nine centuries old.”

Erchirion started in shock then recovered and chuckled. “I suppose youth is relative when one lives forever,” he remarked. 

They both glanced back when Elphir and Amrothos appeared at the doors and hailed their brother. “Ah, pardon me, Father, but Lady Èowyn invited us to join her and Faramir for a ride this morn.” Erchirion grinned. “Methinks she does not quite trust our dear cousin to keep his hands to himself until after their wedding!”

Imrahil laughed and watched his sons hasten down the steps and head for the stables. A tall raven-haired man and a willowy young woman with locks the shade of wheat came out to meet them. Imrahil gazed at the group fondly.

It was heartening to see his nephew so happy and content. Imrahil would have loved Èomer’s sister for that achievement alone. She had brought a light to Faramir’s eyes that had been so long missing. Thank Eru they had found each other even in the midst of so much evil and strife.

His eyes returned to the Elves. The group was almost out of sight having reached the first turn in the cobbled path. Even as they vanished from his sight, another smaller group of three came into view, returning from some jaunt below. Imrahil’s heart started to race. It was Elrond’s sons and the woodland archer.

Imrahil cursed himself for reacting so inordinately to the mere sight of the older twin. Striving to control his unseemly feelings, he retreated into the Golden Hall and firmly tried to turn his thoughts to other matters. That these other matters still had to do with Elves was of no import so long as it had to do with _other_ Elves.

He walked as far as the entrance to the narrow corridor that led to the chambers allotted to him and his sons. He considered what he had learned of their plans for the future. Elrond would be leaving Middle-earth soon as would the Lady Galadriel. They were weary beyond endurance; one could see it in their eyes. What it was that drained them so as it did not the others, he did not know. But it was clear they no longer felt at home in these lands.

He wondered what the separation would do to the Lady of the Wood and her husband. For it was also apparent that Celeborn was not yet ready to forsake Middle-earth. At least Elrond would be reunited with his lady in the land of the Valar. That much the twins had revealed to him during one of their many nightly talks. Still, he thought with some awe, the Lord of Imladris had been parted from his wife for nigh five hundred years. Now his law-parents would face a similar long parting.

Inevitably his thoughts strayed to the brethren though this time they centered on the younger of the two. He had gleaned from their conversations that Legolas would be exploring the fastness of Fangorn Forest with his Dwarf-friend, Gimli, before returning to the north. But he would also be coming back to Gondor to establish a colony of Elves in Faramir’s new princedom of Ithilien. 

The twins, however, needed to remain in Rivendell. Imrahil wondered how the lovers would cope with such frequent and most likely long separations.

But then again, as his son had said, youth was relative when one lived forever. He imagined the same could be said for time. The years probably flowed by swiftly for immortals.

He started when a hand clasped his shoulder. Turning, he felt his breath hitch as he met Elladan’s pewter eyes.

“So deep in thought, _ernilen_ ”—my prince—the Elf smiled. “You did not even sense my approach. Shame on you. Where is your warrior’s readiness?”

Imrahil snorted and said, “And what need would I have for it in the heart of Èomer’s hold?”

Elladan chuckled. “None at all,” he amiably conceded. “But you cannot deny that had you not been so taken with your musings, you would have known my presence much sooner.”

Imrahil objected. “I would have known a man’s approach but hardly an Elf’s. You are all but soundless when you choose to be.”

Elladan grinned. “But I did not choose to be,” he teased. “Admit it, Imrahil, even had a pack of Wargs assailed you, you would not have known it until one took the first bite!”

The prince could not stifle a rueful laugh. “And what do you wish of me?” he countered neatly. “Surely you do not intend to pass the morning jesting at my expense.”

Elladan shook his head. “Jesting, nay, but in your company, I do,” he said. “You once asked me to show you that trick I used to down the foul uruk that dared to accost me on the Pelennor. Come, I would teach you this morn.”

Imrahil blinked in surprise. He had indeed questioned the Elf-lord about an almost astounding feat of hand combat he had witnessed the latter perform on the Pelennor Fields. A dauntingly tall and muscular uruk had caught him from behind and sought to slit his throat. In the next instant, the creature had been flipped on its back like a sack of flour and Elladan had turned its own knife on it, driving the blade deep into the uruk’s neck.

“Now?” he blurted out.

“What better time is there?” Elladan said. “‘Tis a cool morning for summer and the drill yard is quite deserted. I promise, you will not die from embarrassment no matter how many times you land on your back.” 

He did not give the man a chance to accept or decline but walked on down the corridor, throwing an “I will meet you in ten minutes” over his shoulder.

Imrahil stared after him in stupefaction. And then he drew a deep breath and hurried to his chamber to change into appropriate attire.

An hour and a half later, he was mentally kicking himself for having ever asked for tutelage from the Elf-lord.

As Elladan had assured him, the drill yard was empty and they had it to themselves. That was most fortunate for he did not know how he would have hidden his fascination with his companion had there been eyes to witness it. 

Though they were similarly clad in sleeveless jerkins and hardy long breeches and boots, Imrahil did not for one moment think himself possessed of even a fraction of the Elf-warrior’s sheer beauty and sleekness of form, which his spare, close-fitting raiment revealed so spectacularly. He decided early on that such comeliness was an unfair distraction to a simple mortal like himself.

Contrary to his earlier banter, Elladan had not seen fit to flip him on his back numerous times as he undoubtedly could have with all ease. But he had taught him the maneuver with all the diligence of an unrelenting taskmaster. 'I am too old for this,' Imrahil groaned to himself as he stretched a wretchedly sore arm.

He was sweaty and tired and aching all over. How much more punishment could he take? He was grandsire to a lively two-year-old. It was madness to take on an ageless Elf-warrior. It was while he was mulling his soundness of wits or apparent lack thereof that Elladan took him by surprise.

One moment, he was grappling with the Elvenlord once more. In the next, he found himself flat on his back, the force of his landing winding him thoroughly. In the back of his woozy mind, he realized that Elladan had not even dealt with him as mercilessly as he had the uruk. Valar! He did not want to imagine what it would be like to face the Elf in earnest and as a sworn foe!

He lay panting heavily on the grassy yard. That was it. He simply could not continue. Thank the Powers there was no one around to witness his sorry besting. He would never be able to look anyone in the eye after this. For any to behold the Prince of Dol Amroth laid low so effortlessly—he would never live it down. He glared up at the grinning Elf-lord.

“You may leave me here to rot in the sun if you wish,” he growled, refusing to get up. In truth, he did not have the strength to do so at present.

“Ah, but what would your sons say were I to present your pitiful carcass to them, all dried up and fit to turn into a saddle?” Elladan retorted.

Imrahil scowled. He reached out a hand. “Help me up then,” he said.

Elladan took his hand. With all his remaining might, the man pulled hard, taking the Elf by surprise. Elladan landed on his belly beside him with an audible ‘oomph’. 

At the warrior’s disbelieving expression, Imrahil roared with laughter until he thought his sides would split. Elladan’s eyes narrowed.

“You will pay for that!” he exclaimed and launched himself at the startled man.

Imrahil soon had reason to rue his impulsiveness as they wrestled hardily for primacy. This was no contest at all, however, for he was too spent to put up more than cursory resistance. He found himself on his back once more with Elladan astride him.

“What say you now, O Prince?” Elladan demanded.

Imrahil chuckled weakly. But he was not quite ready to give up. “I will say that it is most unwise to strike at an Elf’s confounded pride!” he goaded. “Yet this is no true victory for you, I should think. Will you boast to all Rohan how you subdued a mere man?”

Suddenly, the grey pools that stared at him glittered darkly. Without warning, Elladan bent down, pinned Imrahil‘s hands to the ground and, before the prince knew what he was about, sealed his lips to the stunned man’s mouth.

Imrahil nearly stopped breathing as a wild rapture seared its way like a raging fire through his entire form, racing to the very reaches of his limbs before pooling perilously in the vicinity of his groin. Shocked, he tried to break free, but Elladan’s hold on him was adamantine. For the first time, he knew the full power of the Elf. The knowledge sparked a thrill of alarm even as it heightened the pleasure of this first caress.

Never had he thought to kiss another male—not even in his most insane dreams—yet here he was engaged in the impossible. _And enjoying it!_ he thought with shame. Yet the shame was not enough to sweep away the pleasure and he could not stop himself from responding to Elladan’s ruthless pillage of his mouth.

He heard a moan; knew it for his own. His cheeks burned at his lack of control. Abruptly, Elladan pulled away. Imrahil drew in a shuddering breath; sensed the other’s unsteady breathing as well. He opened his eyes and forced himself to meet the Elf’s gaze.

Elladan stared at him steadily, eyes gleaming with unfathomable meaning. The warrior’s mouth curled into a small smile. A bitter smile it seemed to the bemused prince.

“You are fortunate you are wed,” Elladan said softly. “And have made it clear how much you cherish your lady wife. Else you would have known what it truly means to be _subdued_.”

That had the effect of making Imrahil burn even more. With what he was no longer sure. Elladan rose to his feet, pulling him up in the same motion. He looked at the Elf warily, uncertainly.

“If nothing else, this proves without a doubt that you _are_ of elvish descent,” Elladan remarked dryly. “And I do not only mean your response to me.”

“Then what else do you mean?” Imrahil managed to say. He was still attempting to breathe more calmly.

The grey eyes glittered once more. “You taste sweet, Imrahil,” Elladan said bluntly. “Even sweeter than the women of your race.”

With that, he strode off, leaving Imrahil to stare after him, patently thunderstruck.

* * * *

Imrahil steered clear of Elladan for the next three days. He could not even bring himself to join the Elf-lord and his twin and law-brother for their nocturnal discussions. Not when the very memory of the kiss stirred him in ways he did not want to know.

But by the fourth day, he admitted to himself that he yearned for Elladan’s company. Not because of the pleasure that had passed between them but for their friendly relationship. In all his life, he had yet to know the same degree of easy intimacy he had found with the older twin. And so, despite his uneasiness about their previous encounter, he sought him out.

He discovered him in the stables currying his steed, a magnificent beast that outshone every other horse save for its double, Elrohir’s own mount. Hesitantly, he approached the Elf, the sound of his feet hardly discernable as they trod the dirt floor. 

As he neared the warrior, the latter stopped his movements and turned his head to look at him. Imrahil came to a halt, unsure as to how to proceed.

But before he could put his thoughts into words, Elladan spoke. “Forgive me for my egregious behavior, my prince,” he simply said. “It was uncalled for.”

Imrahil pursed his lips then shook his head. “I am as much at fault. I responded, after all,” he said.

The faintest trace of humor twinkled in Elladan’s eyes, but he did not smile. “You can hardly be blamed for doing so,” he said. “But I took advantage of the situation and you were far from ready for it. That was unconscionable.”

Imrahil began to protest then thought better of it. Instead he said, “I do not wish to lose another friend and one so recently made. I lost too many in the war as it is.”

Elladan smiled faintly then. “You need not further fear anything untoward between us, Imrahil,” he quietly declared. “Until you are free, I will not approach you thusly again. I do not care to be party to vow breaking when the vow was spoken in love and trust as yours was. I would that we be friends again and always.”

He extended his hand in reconciliation. Imrahil took and held it in the spirit that it was intended. But truth be told, he did not know whether he was pleased or disappointed with the Elf-lord’s restraint.

When the Elves and their hobbit-charges at last made to depart Edoras a week later, he was amongst those that gathered before Meduseld to see them off. In particular, he bade goodbye to the three he had come to consider dear comrades despite the brevity of their acquaintance.

They spoke quietly, clasping hands in friendship as they did. At least, Imrahil thought, Legolas would soon return to Gondor and, through the Elf-prince, he would surely hear word of events in the north. He supposed he ought to be thankful for any blessings however small. 

But when the time came at last for the company to leave and they mounted their steeds, he found himself unable to speak for the lump in his throat. And so he let them see his sorrow in his eyes as well as his wish for a fair journey for them.

Elladan turned upon his mount and reached out his hand. Imrahil gripped it wonderingly. The Elf-lord said, “I doubt this is the last we shall see each other, _ernilen_. We have yet to finish what we started.”

Imrahil drew his breath in sharply. His cheeks turned a startling crimson. Releasing his hand, Elladan flashed him a wicked smile and a knowing wink. And then he was urging his steed onwards.

Imrahil blew out his breath as he watched the company wend its way down the curving road to the gates of Edoras. Beside him, his eldest son Elphir glanced at him curiously.

“What was that all about?” he queried, marking his father’s reddened cheeks.

Imrahil ruefully shook his head. “‘Twas but a jest between friends,” he said. 

He wondered not for the last time if he wanted it to be true or not.

*********************  
Glossary:  
Úrui - Sindarin for August

_To be continued…_


	4. Coping

Belfalas, _laer_ F.A. 8  
The crash of the waves against the great rocks that lined the isolated beach east of the castle of Dol Amroth could be frightening to an inlander. But to one who had grown up to both roar and murmur of the mercurial sea’s moods, it was not only familiar but also consoling. And consolation was what Imrahil had needed on many occasions these past three years.

Since Aerin died. His beloved wife and lady.

The illness had taken her slowly and painfully. Not all the healers in Gondor could help her. Not even the King.

For she had told no one of the pain in her belly until it was past anyone’s ability to cure. And so the gradual erosion of health and life had ensued. When she at last passed away, it was almost a relief to her family not to have to bear witness to her suffering any longer.

But Imrahil missed her terribly. She had been his childhood friend, later his dearest lover of all he had known and finally his treasured wife. She had borne him three strapping sons and a lovely daughter. And stayed by him through all the trials of life and the vicissitudes of a long marriage. Now she was gone. And so was his joy.

At least she had known the pride and happiness of seeing her daughter become Queen of Rohan, he thought as he sauntered down the shore. And held Lothíriel’s little Elfwine in her arms ere she was too sick to even sit up in bed. He oft held to such thoughts, finding comfort in them for his bereavement.

A shout caught his attention and he glanced up. It was Amrothos bearing down rapidly on him. His youngest son caught up with him, a smile on his face as he held out a rolled sheet of parchment to him. The seal was broken, indicating it had already been read.

“This just arrived from Faramir,” Amrothos explained. “It was addressed to Elphir. Read it, Father, and tell me if it pleases you.”

Wondering why he was being made to read a letter meant for his eldest-born, Imrahil unrolled the parchment and did as he was bid. A few minutes later, he looked up and regarded Amrothos with just the slightest hint of a smile.

“And why was this sent to your brother when it concerns me?” he mildly inquired.

Amrothos grinned. “No doubt Faramir knows your stubborn nature and thought to appeal to Elphir to reason with you instead.” He slung a cajoling arm around his father’s shoulders. “And he also knows Elphir would ask Erchirion and me to help him persuade you to accept.”

Imrahil shook his head. “I cannot spend fall and winter in Emyn Arnen,” he protested. “There will be the trade delegation from Lebennin to attend to and the designs for our new ships to study and I have received word of a dispute over fishing rights with—”

“Elphir will see to the first, I am more than capable of the second and you know Erchirion is a master negotiator and will take care of the last,” Amrothos pointed out. He looked at his father with a mixture of love and exasperation. “Faramir is right to ask you to stay awhile in Ithilien. You continue to grieve so deeply for Mother because you are surrounded by memories of her. You need time away from Dol Amroth, Father.”

Imrahil knew better than to contradict his son. “I will think about it,” he said diplomatically.

Amrothos chuckled. “And we will help you make up your mind,” he said. “Now, who do you wish to bring with you?”

Imrahil let out an amused gust of breath. “I have not yet agreed to this,” he protested.

“Why fight the inevitable?” Amrothos rejoined with a snort of laughter. He began to walk back to the castle. “And will you ride your bay or your new gelding?” he called back over his shoulder.

Imrahil could not help chuckling in resignation. “My bay!” he shouted back. Amrothos’s victorious mirth floated back to him with the strong salty breeze.

Imrahil stared out at the foaming waters as they snaked in and out between the craggy boulders. Unbidden, his spirits began to lift just at the very thought of visiting lovely Ithilien once more. His sons were right. He needed a change. And Emyn Arnen afforded a most welcome one.

* * * *

Ithilien, _iavas_ FA 8  
He rode into the small but prosperous capital of Ithilien the first week of autumn. Tucked into the heart of the verdant, wooded hills after which it had been named, Emyn Arnen was indubitably young by any reckoning. But it was already gaining a reputation for culture and lore that was associated with older cities. That was not surprising considering its lord was both warrior and scholar.

Imrahil smilingly returned the greetings of various inhabitants as he rode down the stone-paved streets towards his nephew’s halls. Faramir’s uncle was a familiar face in Emyn Arnen and was well loved. All knew that it was the Belfalas prince who had given their dear lord a semblance of paternal affection and guidance rather than his own departed father. And so he was always treated accordingly—with respect and the highest regard.

As he and his escort came up to the open courtyard of Faramir’s dwelling, the Prince of Ithilien himself came out to welcome him. By his side were his beauteous wife and their young son. As soon as Imrahil dismounted he was enfolded in his kinsman’s embrace followed by a warm hug from Éowyn and an admittedly rather messy kiss on the cheek from the irrepressible Elboron.

“I knew my cousins would not fail to convince you to come,” Faramir said with a grin as soon as Imrahil discreetly wiped his cheek. “Welcome to Emyn Arnen, Uncle.”

Imrahil smiled as Éowyn drew his arm into the crook of hers. “We will not allow you to wallow in gloom,” she told him. “Your dear lady would never forgive any of us were we to permit you to sink into despair.”

“You are kind to be so solicitous of an old man’s well being,” Imrahil said gratefully.

“Old man indeed!” Éowyn snorted. “Fie on you, my lord! You put the young-bloods of this court to shame, so youthful and handsome you manage to remain. Indeed, were we in Rohan, you would be suspected of sorcery and verily burnt at the stake!”

The men laughed at this observation. Yet it was true. Imrahil was now in his seventies yet he looked no older than Faramir who himself looked more than a decade younger than his forty-eight years. It was fortunate for both men that their king was himself of a long-lived, slow-to-age line else there would have been many suspicious rumblings about the impossibility of their enduring youthfulness.

“Come, Uncle, you are not the only guest to grace Emyn Arnen with your presence,” Faramir said. “I think you will not want for happy distractions during your stay here.”

He led the Belfalas prince into his halls. They were newly completed and thus not yet quite as imposing as the White Tower or even Meduseld in terms of the atmosphere within of power and influence. But Faramir’s home was by far cozier and possessed of a quaint but lovely familiarity that could only spring from the openly affectionate marriage its lord and lady shared.

Unlike other keeps, it did not look inwards but invited the outdoors in. Immediately behind its main hall was a circular garden complete with a small but cheerful fountain. A cobbled path led down one side of it to the residential wing of the hold. One could of course pass through a corridor from the main hall in case of inclement weather but most preferred the open path for obvious reasons.

As Imrahil stepped onto the path, he glanced at the fountain and saw a tall figure standing by it. But he did not really pay much attention for, as was the wont in the homes of noblemen, there was seldom a place that did not bear the presence of a guest, a servant or a guard. A moment later, however, Faramir suddenly took hold of his arm and made him stop.

“Uncle, there is someone here who has been awaiting your arrival,” he announced. “Will you not greet him?”

Imrahil sighed. “I have just arrived, nephew,” he objected. “Can this not wait until I have properly rested?”

A deep, melodious voice interrupted his protestations. “You are showing your age, O Prince.”

Imrahil gasped and spun around in shock. He stared agape into glittering pewter eyes. Elladan smiled with obvious amusement at the prince’s less than regal demeanor.

“We meet again, Imrahil,” he said. “As I told you we would.”

* * * *

Distractions indeed! Imrahil thought with some bemusement. As to whether they were happy or not was debatable if one took into consideration the constant befuddlement one in particular subjected him to.

Elladan had not come to Emyn Arnen on his own. Rather, Legolas had paid a call on Faramir who was technically his liege lord and brought his visiting binding-mate with him. As Elrohir had been accompanied south by his twin, it was natural that Elladan should come with them on this sojourn.

Of course, it was not known to any in Emyn Arnen but Faramir and Éowyn that Legolas and Elrohir were espoused. Knowing the Steward to have been Mithrandir’s eager student once upon a time, Legolas had felt it safe to reveal their wedded state to him and his lady. Not to mention expedient. With their hosts’ complicity, the Elves were given adjoining quarters that allowed Legolas and Elladan to discreetly exchange places with none the wiser.

But this had the effect of making Elladan and Imrahil immediate neighbors, an arrangement that had serious effects on the prince’s peace of mind. For it meant that they regularly bumped into each other in the corridor whether they were to spend time together or not and that unsettled Imrahil very much.

It was not that Elladan did anything inappropriate such as coming to his chamber or accosting him in some isolated spot in the keep. In fact, in the week since their reunion, the Elf-lord had desisted from doing anything more than engaging him in the affable conversations they had found so enjoyable ten years ago. He had expressed his heartfelt condolences to the widowed prince within moments of their meeting and showed him naught but sympathy and succor in the days that followed. It made the prince wonder whether the older twin had lost interest in him. Well, interest of a carnal nature that is.

It relieved him to a certain extent. He had not quite known how to respond to the Elf’s overtures a decade back and still was unsure how to react were he to repeat said overtures now. On the other hand, however, he felt a twinge of disappointment. He could not deny that Elladan’s previous flirtations with him had excited him if only because of the strange feelings being on the receiving end of tacit courtship had elicited from him. If Elladan had decided to keep their relationship strictly platonic after all...

Imrahil sighed as he walked down the deserted corridor to his chamber, his spirits suddenly lowered by his confusion about the Elf’s intentions.

He had just come from a convivial talk with Faramir in the latter’s study with wine and cheese and fruit for refreshment. But now it was quite late and none seemed awake amongst his neighbors. Except for Elrohir and Legolas, he amended as he passed their door. The sounds were muted and others would not have marked anything unusual. But Imrahil had always been keener of hearing than most men and his ears picked up the distinct sounds of passionate love-play. He had to grin then. He could only hope Elladan was getting some sleep despite his brother’s nocturnal adventuring.

He entered his chamber and near thought his heart would stop. Elladan sat upon the couch by the crackling hearth, long legs propped up carelessly on the low table before it. The Elf was dressed in a bed-robe and night-trousers. And his raven locks streamed freely down his back. Imrahil’s mouth went dry at the sight.

Elladan did not apologize for his intrusion into the prince’s chambers but only smiled and tossed a drinking cup to him. Imrahil caught it one-handedly and wordlessly sank onto the couch opposite the Elf. He did not know what to say or if he had the wits to say it coherently.

The Elf-lord poured him a generous amount of whatever it was he was imbibing. Imrahil took a tentative sip and found it of no discernible flavor yet somewhat sweet and soothing and pleasantly warming to the body.

“What is this?” he inquired after taking another appreciative sip.

“Miruvor,” Elladan replied. “Imladrin cordial.”

Imrahil nodded. “I have heard of it,” he said. “Legolas has mentioned it on occasion.” He took another mouthful of the liquor. “Valar! ‘Tis potent,” he remarked as a greater heat coursed through his very veins.

“Aye, but it will not make you drunk,” Elladan said with a brief chuckle. “At least, not unless you consume an entire bottle by yourself. It can however loosen your tongue overmuch so take heed not to have any if discretion is of the greatest necessity.”

“I will keep that in mind,” Imrahil replied humorously.

Talk subsided for a while as they simply downed their drinks in amiable silence. But soon Imrahil became aware of Elladan’s scrutiny.

“What is it?” he queried.

The grey eyes gleamed admiringly. “You have not changed, Imrahil,” the Elf said.

“Haven’t I?”

“Nay, you are still as beautiful as when I first saw you.”

Imrahil flushed. “Elladan, please, I am still in—”

“Mourning,” the twin finished for him. “I am well aware of that fact. ‘Tis the reason Faramir asked you to stay the winter in Ithilien. But I was not aware that your grief precluded compliments of any kind.”

Imrahil blew his breath out. “I did not mean to offend you,” he said. “I confess I have not been the best of company.”

“So I noticed,” Elladan remarked. “And Faramir has told me more.” He frowned with obvious concern. “My prince, ‘tis natural to grieve for the loss of a loved one. But there comes a time when you must let go. To immerse yourself in sorrow and longing without surcease is hardly healthy for you.”

Taking unbidden exception to the Elf’s mildly chiding tone, Imrahil bristled. “You once said you know nothing of love,” he rejoined more acerbically than he had ever done with the other. “Unless that has changed, I do not see how you can know what it means to lose someone as dear as my wife was to me.”

Elladan looked at him quietly, his face suddenly guarded. At length, he said: “‘Tis true that I know nothing about the loss of a heart’s mate. But I do know what it means to lose loved ones. However, I cannot grieve forever. No Elf can. If there is one thing we learn eventually it is to accept loss and move on. It is either that or fade from grief.”

Imrahil caught his breath as he recalled exactly what the Elf-lord had endured in his more than three thousand years of life. The departure of his mother for Valinor more than five centuries ago. The eternal sundering of his sister’s fate from his and his family’s. The inexorable passing of beloved fosterlings over nearly a millennium of guardianship of Elessar’s line. Mayhap Elladan did not yet know what it meant to be shorn of one’s mate but he did know about losing kith and kin. He had lived with it far longer than Imrahil could ever hope to experience. And learned to live with it.

“Forgive me,” he murmured contritely. “I had forgotten that you have known more sorrow than I.”

Elladan sighed. “Do not apologize,” he said. “We spoke of such matters a decade ago. I should not have expected you to remember them.”

Silence fell once more between them. An uncomfortable one. Seeking to dispel the uneasy tension, Imrahil spoke.

“Despite my less than agreeable manner, I would have you know that I appreciate your efforts to console me,” he said. “You brought me great cheer just by being here.”

Elladan considered him thoughtfully for a space. “I am glad if I have done that much for you,” he replied. “Though mayhap what I had thought to offer you is not what you desire or need.”

“What do you mean?” Imrahil asked.

“What I have to give is not consolation but completion,” the Elf-lord bluntly said. He smiled grimly when the prince reddened anew. “But as I said, you neither desire that nor need it. You seek the soothing of your spirit and not the pleasuring of your flesh. Until you cease to need the one and begin to yearn for the other, I will be but a friend to you.”

He rose, compelling Imrahil to do likewise. They walked to the door together.

“I do not know what to say,” Imrahil said before the Elf left. “Except thank you.”

“‘Tis enough and you are welcome,” Elladan replied. He suddenly slipped an arm around the prince, pulled him close and sealed their mouths together in a searing embrace.

Imrahil gasped as his lips were summarily parted and his mouth plundered with breathtaking efficiency. Fire seemed to engulf him as he all but succumbed to the heady caress. Even the miruvor could not match the incipient conflagration the twin ignited within him. When Elladan released him, his heart was pounding madly.

The Elf-lord’s eyes glittered rakishly. “‘Tis just to show you what you are missing,” he drawled. “Pleasant dreams, my prince,” he grinningly added. With that, he was out of the room.

Imrahil managed to make his way to his bed albeit unsteadily. He sank down on the edge and tried to clear his head. Unthinkingly, he raised his hand to his lips and ran his fingers along them. For the first time in three years, he thought not of what he had lost but of what he might gain.

It was enough to render him sleepless for the whole of that night.

***********************  
Glossary:  
laer - Sindarin for summer  
iavas - Sindarin for early autumn

_To be continued…_


	5. Guile

Rust and bronze carpeted most of the woods of Ithilien, the shedding trees held in autumn’s thrall. The fallen foliage rustled underfoot as Imrahil made his way back to Legolas’s halls. The man walked the paths of the elven colony the woodland prince had founded soon after the War.

A week had passed since his arrival in this southern bastion of the Firstborn.

Before Legolas and the twins departed Emyn Arnen, the archer had extended an invitation to the Belfalas prince to visit the colony. Few mortals had ever set foot in it. Gondor’s royal couple and their children were counted among those few and naturally Faramir and Éowyn. With the passing of time, its mystery and allure only increased. It had been an offer he could not resist.

Now he was glad he had not refused. He had not felt at peace with himself in so long a time. Not even in Emyn Arnen had his sense of loss and uncertainty totally abated. But here, both had receded, leaving him contented with life for the first time since Aerin passed away.

He could not quite put his finger on what it was that had eased his heart and mind. He only knew that it was so. Mayhap, he sometimes thought, it was the Elves’ themselves and their serenity. Even when they were in turmoil from anger or grief or fear, at their very core was the certitude of the innate rightness of their spirits, of the intrinsic purity of their hearts and an inborn trust in their place in the scheme of things. 

Eternal living had taught them to discern what they could change in life and themselves and that acceptance of what could not be altered was not necessarily a weakness. They no longer grasped fruitlessly at straws as mortals were still wont to do but faced life head on and took all that it offered or flung at them with fortitude and patience.

Imrahil would always be grateful for whatever whim of fate that had led him here. He had at last begun to heal from the loss of his lady and the life he had known with her. He had begun to smile in earnest once more.

Breathing in the cool, fragrant air of this enchanted neck of the wood, he walked back to his hosts’ dwelling.

* * * *

His countenance aglow with delight, Elrohir watched a group of rambunctious Elflings splash about in exuberance in the stream behind the house. He leaned over the balustrade of the narrow terrace just outside Legolas’s study, called from the tedious chore of official correspondence by the happy voices of children at play. He grinned as challenges were issued and accepted, the youngsters still too raw not to know enough when to decline a dare. Soon a half dozen of them were furiously paddling their way upstream while the rest followed more slowly, all the while voicing their excitement and cheer.

As they disappeared from sight, he straightened up. Into a most unchaste embrace as evidenced by the searing press of lips against his neck and the steady pull by limber arms until he was all but molded against a fair archer’s withy frame.

“Have you finally emerged from seclusion, _melethron_?”—lover—a purred query warmed his tingling flesh.

Elrohir laughed softly and turned his head to meet Legolas’s dancing eyes. “Not quite,” he murmured. “I was only lured out here by the children’s rather vocal play.”

“Indeed. What may I do to forestall another retreat then?” Legolas cooed. Elrohir caught his breath as the prince pressed against him from behind.

He took a moment to steady his suddenly racing heart. “We are not exactly hidden,” he ventured.

“And not a soul in sight to mark that fact,” Legolas countered, reaching around the Elf-knight’s hips purposefully.

Distracted by the hand that busily unlaced his breeches, Elrohir was slow to react. He hissed as Legolas gained access to what he sought. “What would you have of me?” he whispered at length.

Legolas’s smile was positively feral. “I would have you,” he growled.

A graceful elm grew directly out of the terrace floor on one side. Before Elrohir could think to protest, he found himself backed up against it, Legolas following so closely, a flea would not have found passage between their bodies. A spate of kisses to mouths and throats and readily exposed chests, not to mention a flurry of fevered strokes and clutches to sundry body parts, rendered both quite mute though not exactly noiseless.

Elrohir did not resist when Legolas wordlessly turned him to face the natural pillar. One of the bed-lessons he had taught the archer long ago was that their difference in age was of no matter. It was Legolas’s right to take as much as give, to command as well as submit. Their couplings had been the richer for the equality in their bodies’ years of loving.

Bracing himself against the tree trunk, Elrohir awaited the archer’s sensuous charge. When it came, he bit down on his lip to stifle the moan that tried to escape him; knew that the tension in Legolas’s entrapping arms were as much from his own efforts to still his expressions of pleasure as it was from the rapture that steadily unraveled him. But the battle for silence was a losing one; it always was. Soon, the terrace resounded with the desperately muffled groans and gasps that came with the spiraling of heady joy and the encroachment of rapturous release.

Legolas buried his face in the crook of Elrohir’s neck, the welling of blissful sensation too much to bear, the waxing pressure in his groin too great to withstand. Driving hard one last time into Elrohir’s yielding warmth, he hoarsely uttered his beloved’s name, shuddering his completion into the Elf-knight’s body. Warm cream coated his stroking fingers and he murmured his love and desire into Elrohir’s ear, relishing the telling tremors that wracked his mate’s form. In Elrohir’s total pleasure and his surrender to it did Legolas always find deepest satisfaction. As Elrohir did in his.

The Elf-knight turned slightly in his arms and caught his lips in a liquid caress. He returned the kiss with ardent tenderness, enjoying the oneness of their hearts and spirits in the wake of the joining of their bodies. Neither took note of the red-faced onlooker who had unwittingly proved the belief of a lack of witnesses to their tryst erroneous.

Imrahil hastened away from the terrace, cursing his decision to take a short cut into the house by way of the study. The sight of the two Elves’ impassioned loving had rooted him to the spot as soon as he laid eyes on them. Unable to tear his gaze from his first exposure to a coupling between two _ellyn_ , he had stared at them in mingled shock and fascination until they were done. Only when they turned their whispers to lovers’ intimacies did he find the wherewithal to wrench himself from the scene.

Now he hurried to his room, needful of the cool water in the basin upon the table beneath his window. He could feel the burning in his cheeks and only a good dousing would stamp out the fire therein. So flustered was he that he almost collided with Elladan at the turn into the corridor leading to the guest chambers. Managing to maintain his balance, Elladan helped him regain his. The Elf peered curiously into his face.

“What ails you, Imrahil?” he inquired. “You are as red as a hobbit afloat in a barrel of ale!”

The ridiculous image elicited a wave of laughter from the prince though it did not cool his crimsoned face. He shook his head as he clutched at his waist, trying to still the mirth that had taken him unawares. Finally managing to control his hilarity, he looked at the thoroughly puzzled Elf-lord.

“I am sorry,” he gasped. “But I made the mistake of-of going by the study instead of the front door!”

Elladan stared at him even more perplexed. “If you go on like this, I will believe you guilty of consuming more than a barrel of ale,” he told the man.

“Nay, I have not indulged myself at this hour of the day,” Imrahil protested. “‘Tis only that I never expected your brother to do so. And out on the terrace at that!”

Comprehension dawned on Elladan’s face. “I take it he did not do so alone?” he probed just to ensure he had not misunderstood the prince.

Imrahil snorted. “Would I have been so perturbed if he had?” he said. He sighed and leaned against the wall. “I was so afraid they would see me and think my intrusion deliberate.”

Elladan regarded him thoughtfully. “And why would you be afraid?” he remarked. “Unless your intrusion lasted beyond what was seemly however unintentional it may have been.”

That effectively wiped the grin from Imrahil’s face. He colored once more. “I did not mean to watch them,” he muttered and made to move away.

Elladan caught him by the wrist. “Forgive me,” he said. “I did not mean to insinuate anything improper in your intentions. I know that if you stayed ‘twas because you had never seen the like before.” He pulled the man back gently. “We are all oft mesmerized by our first sight of anything beyond our ken.”

Imrahil looked at him uneasily. But naught but understanding and sympathy showed in Elladan’s eyes. His pique and embarrassment subsided and he relaxed.

“You will not tell them that I saw them,” he entreated. “I do not care to have them discomfited around me.”

Elladan chuckled. “Even had they seen you and known of your extended perusal, they would not have been the least bit discomposed,” he said. “They are not retiring about such matters and even less are they ashamed of what they share.”

“And you?” The words came out before he could stop them. Imrahil felt his cheeks flame anew.

But the Elf-warrior merely smiled. “I am my brother’s twin,” he said. “There are few things that we do not share. Legolas being one of them,” he added with a snicker.

Imrahil found himself smiling in return. “Aye, that is most apparent,” he said. “You show no interest in him, not even appreciation for his comeliness.”

“And have Elrohir slit my throat?” Elladan retorted with humor. “But truth be told, if there is one area where our tastes diverge, ‘tis in whom we share our beds with.” Ignoring Imrahil’s startled reaction at his frankness, he said, “Elrohir long favored lithe, ethereally wrought Elves even amongst the soldiers of our kindred. ‘Tis no surprise he was drawn so fervently to Legolas. I warrant there is no Elf in Arda as delicate of countenance yet so formidable of form as our woodland prince. I, on the other hand, prefer buxom females and strapping males. I like my meat plain and simple and in generous proportions.”

Imrahil gaped at this last statement. Unbidden, an image of the Elf-lord entwined with a fearsomely endowed warrior unfolded in his mind. He nearly choked as the picture played out in his thoughts. He mentally shook his head, discarding the image before it betrayed its existence on his countenance.

“That is a most apt comparison,” he managed to say lightly. “Still and all, I will be more careful next time. Even if they care not about being seen, I do care about seeing them!”

Elladan chuckled. “Would you join me for a ride this afternoon?” he abruptly asked.

Imrahil thought back to his morning walk and the sweet herb-scented breeze that had so refreshed him. He found himself eager for more of Ithilien’s bracing air.

“Aye, I will join you,” he said.

* * * *

Hours later, he wondered what he had let himself in for. They had followed a meandering route from the colony, taking so many turns and cuts that Imrahil owned himself quite lost. He would never make it back on his own without Elladan.

He glanced at his companion.

Elladan had said little during their trek and only then to instruct him in the green growth of the wood or point out the habitats of its animal life, most of them new and strange to a man who had spent most of his life by the sea. Imrahil realized that, save for the occasional visit to Minas Tirith and Emyn Arnen, he knew little of life beyond his borders. He wondered what it must be like further up north—the climate, the terrain, most of all, the people.

His eyes fell on the cluster of quail slung over the rump of the Elf’s steed. Elladan had surprised him by downing the birds earlier. It had not seemed like the Elf to hunt for mere sport. For there was no need to replenish the larders back home; Legolas’s hunters had just returned from the chase the day before.

He looked up and noted the steady descent of the sun, its fading light deepening the ruddy hues of the once verdant forest. He decided to voice his concern at last.

“‘Twill soon be nightfall,” he said to the Elf. “Should we not be going back?”

Elladan grinned at him. “Afraid of the dark, O Prince?” he teased.

Imrahil snorted. “Nay, but I do not wish to sleep out in the open when I can have a warm bed at my disposal.”

“But what if you must?” Elladan questioned with a suspicious smirk. Before the surprised man could answer, he suddenly reined in his horse and dismounted. “I think this is a good spot to encamp for the night.”

Imrahil stared at him. “Encamp?” he repeated in disbelief. “What do you mean?”

Elladan glanced about him speculatively. “I see no better place,” he said. Taking the quail in hand, he looked up at Imrahil. “Do get down from there and make yourself comfortable.”

“Comfortable where?” Imrahil demanded, feeling more and more dazed.

“Why, here of course,” Elladan answered and vanished behind a clump of trees.

Alarmed, Imrahil hurriedly dismounted as well and followed him. And stopped short and stared. 

Behind the trees was a small clearing with a crystal spring in its midst. A slender waterfall fed it from above. And by the spring was a hardy tent large enough for two tall men to sleep in quite comfortably. A stack of kindling lay waiting before it.

He managed to close his mouth then glared at Elladan. “You asked me to join you for a ride!” he exclaimed.

“Well, what did we just do?” Elladan mildly rejoined. “Fly?”

“But-but I have no extra clothing,” the man desperately said. “I refuse to retire in these clothes and I certainly will not sleep in naught but my skin.”

“That is a goodly thought,” Elladan remarked as if thinking on it. At Imrahil’s appalled reaction, he laughed and reached into the tent. “Here!”

He pulled out a pack and tossed it to the prince. Imrahil opened it cautiously then gasped as he found several days’ worth of his own clothing within. “How—?” he sputtered.

“The servants were kind enough to put that together for me,” Elladan said. “They were more than helpful when they learned we would be camping for a week or so.”

“A week!” Imrahil was too thunderstruck to comment on the servants’ unseemly complicity in the Elf-lord’s machinations.

“Is there an echo around here?” Elladan mused.

“But what about food…?” Imrahil’s voice faded away as Elladan pointedly held up the quail. “Well, I am not going to bathe in a cold spring,” he objected. “Mayhap an Elf can withstand the chill but I am but a mere mortal.”

Elladan knelt and dipped his hand into the spring. “Feel it,” he said invitingly.

Wonderingly, Imrahil did. He started as his hand encountered luxuriously heated water. “‘Tis warm!” he said in a hushed voice. “How can this be?”

“Despite appearances, we are not all that far from Mordor and Orodruin,” Elladan explained. “Ithilien is blessed with many springs like this. Heated water from Mt. Doom’s old outlets passes through underground channels and issues into various bodies of water in the region.” 

He pointed to the lacy waterfall. “But the water from up there is cool and sweet. ‘Twill do for drinking if you do not care for wine. I brought quite a selection by the way.”

Reminded of the warrior’s admittedly admirable duplicity, Imrahil renewed his protests. “Elladan, I will not stay here for a week!” he insisted.

The Elf shrugged negligently and turned his attention to building a fire. “Fine,” he tossed over his shoulder. “Go back then. I am sure you can find your way in the dark.”

If a look could kill, Elladan would undoubtedly have been flayed, skewered and roasted before sundown.

**********************  
Glossary:  
ellyn - male Elves

_To be continued…_


	6. Awakening

To his surprise, four days into his unexpected camping sojourn with Elladan, Imrahil found himself enjoying the interlude to the fullest. 

They spent long hours exploring the sprawling, fragrant woods and lush, herb-scented fields of this region of Ithilien. They swam and hiked and climbed wherever the day took them. They sparred with sword and knife until they were happily spent and mock-wrestled until they landed in a merry tangle on the grassy ground. And they lived off the land, hunting occasionally, or fishing now and then in the myriad streams, and feasting at all other times on the bounty of tree and bush and vine.

In this fashion did Imrahil learn about the Elf-lord and his twin’s long ago vengeful errantry in the wake of their mother’s abduction and torment by northern orcs. In this manner did Imrahil recall the days of his own youth, when he made do without the luxuries of home while learning how to survive during the long campaigns against the Enemy.

They became quite close during those four days, the human prince and the Elvenlord. So close that Imrahil could confide some of his deepest musings to Elladan and Elladan in turn revealed much of his millennia-long life that few mortals knew about. So close Imrahil could even inquire about private matters and not be politely but firmly rebuffed.

“How long have Elrohir and Legolas known each other?” he asked the third night as they sat before the fire, finishing off a hearty repast of herb-crusted roast hare, wild berries mixed with assorted nuts and cool honey mead. The memory of the two Elves’ passionate tryst had failed to dim and he found himself more curious than ever about his hosts’ relationship.

Elladan smiled. “If you mean, how long has my brother literally known Legolas, the answer would be from my law-brother’s first day of life.” At Imrahil’s stunned reaction, he chuckled and went on to explain. “We happened to come to Mirkwood with a message from our father to King Thranduil on the very day of Legolas’s birth. But as for being lovers, well, they became so just before Legolas’s one-hundredth year. Elrohir was his first bed-teacher. At Legolas’s insistence I must say.”

Imrahil nearly choked on his mead. “His insistence?” he managed to say. “What did he do? Demand that Elrohir bed him??”

Elladan’s mirth expanded. “Not so baldly put as that,” he snickered. “But, aye, he made quite clear what he desired of Elrohir. My poor brother was verily taken aback at the time to put it mildly.”

“Why?” Imrahil queried, so fascinated that he forgot to be embarrassed by his curiosity. “Was Legolas not to his liking?”

“Do not ever let Legolas hear you suggest that,” Elladan warned grinningly. “But in truth, liking had naught to do with it. They had become good friends by then and Elrohir saw himself as Legolas’s mentor of sorts considering the great difference in their ages. After all, how would you feel if the daughter of one of your counsellors were to approach you and request that you relieve her of her virtue?”

When Imrahil suddenly flushed, Elladan stared at him in surprise. A moment later, he burst out laughing. “You hide a rakehell’s streak behind your noble countenance, O Prince,” he gibed. “And pray tell, did the fair damsel’s sire ever learn of your, er, tutelage?”

Imrahil sighed ruefully. “Nay, thank the Powers,” he said. “Else I might have been forced to duel with my own advisor and he so hopeless with a sword at that.”

“And you all too skilled with yours,” Elladan rejoined wickedly.

Imrahil glared at him, then shook his head. “I was very grateful she did not get with child because of my recklessness,” he said. “‘Tis a good thing I realized I was in love with Aerin soon after. She cured me of my roving eye.”

Elladan’s grin subsided to an understanding smile. “As Legolas cured my brother of his,” he said reminiscently. “Though they took long enough to realize there was more to their passion than mere lust. Still, I envy them. ‘Tis not every day that a bond between Elves is established from the birth of one.” His smile turned mischievous as he noted the astonishment in Imrahil’s eyes. “Aye, it is an interesting story,” he agreed. “Mayhap I will tell you of it one day. But for now, I think I will turn in early.”

Imrahil scowled at being left hanging so summarily. “We always turn in early,” he muttered. But as Elladan had already risen to his feet, still chuckling at his response, he had no choice but to follow suit.

But what he said was true. They did take their rest earlier than their wont when at home, oft rising with the sun as a result. It just seemed the natural thing to do out here in the wild.

Yes, Imrahil found that he was enjoying himself very much. For the first time in years, he felt completely unfettered by the chains of duty and responsibility. He had lived for so long for others he had almost forgotten how to live for himself. It was heartening to heart and soul to be tended for a change in lieu of others’ well being.

Now if only he could rid himself of his uncharacteristic modesty before the Elf. In all his years, he had never felt so shy to uncover himself before another man, whatever the race. His protestations their first evening out had merely been symptoms of his unaccustomed reluctance to be on such intimate terms with Elladan.

In the years before the downfall of Sauron, he had spent as much time on the field as he had at home in Dol Amroth. He had not balked at sleeping in his filthy armor, had oft lived in it for days until presented with the most welcome opportunity to scrub himself clean. And he had been more than willing to do without. What was a night of starkness to a warrior prince after all and one who had also gained quite a reputation with the female population of Belfalas ere he wed his lady?

But all these faded when faced with the prospect of rendering himself stitchless before Elladan or facing a stitchless Elladan for that matter. To this end, he contrived to bathe before or after the Elf-lord to avoid having to strip in front of him. Unfortunately, Elladan was not similarly stricken with such belated decorousness and Imrahil was treated to quite an array of revealing poses that oft reduced him to face-burning discomfiture.

The Elf’s inquisitive perusal of his form did not help matters either. Elladan had a way of raking his tall frame with his pewter eyes that reminded him of a cat regarding its prey. One could not be sure if he intended to merely play with him. Or pounce on him. That puzzled him no end. 

Why did the Elf-lord think a mere mortal man worth his time and attention?

He did not see himself as the Elf did. He thought the Peredhil exotic for their uniqueness amongst Elves and Men. He had not imagined that an Elf would see him in much the same light. For it was not only the fairness of his face and form that drew interest but also the details of his body. Details that pointed up both his startling similarities to and more subtle differences from the Peredhil.

Unlike most mortal males, Imrahil bore no facial hair, a trait his own sons and other kinsmen did not share. His chest and the hollows of his arms were also smooth and free of the growth that usually matted even the limbs of more hirsute men. Only on his groin did he evince his human blood, the chestnut curls surrounding his length thicker than any _ellon_ ’s even amongst the Half-elven males of Elrond’s family.

And as the twins had observed years before, he was taller and more lissome in build than a man yet more muscular and broader of shoulders and chest than a pureblooded Elf. The one feature that physically marked him as one bearing elvish blood was the shape of his ears. The one feature that showed him to be altogether human was his tendency to gain color from exposure to the sun and being a redoubtable seaman as well as a prince, that exposure was almost constant. 

Of course now, during the cooler, less brilliant days of autumn, his golden sheen was muted. But it was present nonetheless. Yet strangely, despite the unrelenting assault of the elements upon him, his flesh remained firm and smooth and unlined. Small wonder that folk, even his own people of Belfalas, looked at him with equal parts appreciation and amazement.

As Elladan looked at him now, discomposing him to the degree that he felt the need to hide himself rather than endure the Elf’s scrutiny. But other than that, the prince deemed the trip and the company most enjoyable and not to be regretted in the least.

The evening of their fourth day, he retired early, a little worn out by a whole day’s worth of riding and an exhilarating chase through the woods after a fleet roebuck. The artful beast had more than proven itself worthy of their skill and mettle.

But after a protracted pursuit, they had finally brought it down and now had enough game for the rest of their sojourn. Elladan had shown him how to keep the meat sound for at least three days with the use of wild herbs that had the virtue of preserving both freshness and flavor.

After helping dress the roebuck and cook a portion of it for their dinner, he had decided he was too tired to linger for small talk after partaking of the meal. He had eaten quickly and sparingly then set about washing the day’s grime from his body. After a soothing soak in the warm spring, he retreated to the tent with the intention of sleeping at once.

But before he lay down upon his pallet, he peeked out once more to see what Elladan was about. The sight that greeted his eyes took his breath away and froze him in unmoving fascination.

The Elf stood in the moonlight, fresh from his own bath, clad in naught but loose long breeches. Though his body gleamed with moisture from his bath, he seemed untroubled by the crisp night air. He was raptly gazing skyward, as if communing with the stars. His raven hair flowed wantonly in the strong breeze, whipping about his shoulders and back. His skin seemed to glow from within giving him an otherworldly appearance. And every defining curve and plane and angle of his upper torso and limbs came into sharp relief in the silvery light.

A single star in the firmament suddenly brightened or so it seemed to the man’s eyes. Its light softly illuminated the Elf eliciting a smile of such beauteous radiance that Imrahil could only gawk in awe. And sparked a sudden flaring of desire so overwhelming, it wrenched the prince out of his daze and drew him back into shocking reality. A reality that included a raging arousal such as he had not had since his unruly adolescence.

He hurriedly withdrew into the deeps of the tent and lay down on his pallet, drawing his blanket about his trembling form. He closed his eyes and tried to rid himself of his unlooked for lust, thinking of anything and everything that might distract him from it. No good. It simply would not fade.

Groaning in frustration, Imrahil knew he had no recourse but to bring himself to release or suffer through a long, sleepless night, which would in turn most surely herald a throbbing headache come morning. Almost desperately, he reached under his blanket and undid the lacing on his sleeping breeches. Biting his lip to stifle any treacherous sounds, he began to stroke himself. 

It was not something he truly enjoyed. It seemed too much a chore and a clinical one at that, this pleasuring of one’s self to achieve relief when there were no women about to bed.

So absorbed was he in what he was doing that he did not mark the sudden gust of cool air in the tent. He was startled but understandably slow to react when he felt his blanket suddenly pulled off. He gasped in shock when his hips were straddled and another hand insinuated itself under his to supplant it and gripped his shaft. 

His eyes snapped open to behold Elladan above him. The warrior began to draw his hand up and down his impossibly rigid length. Imrahil moaned and grasped the edges of his pallet almost convulsively.

“What-what are you—?” he stuttered, unable to complete his line of thought, much less his sentence. The Elf’s steady, knowing caresses wrought sensation after pleasurably maddening sensation. “Elladan, please, you must not—!”

“Hush, my fair one,” Elladan whispered. “Let me do this for you.”

Torn between shock and rapture, Imrahil closed his eyes again, trying to shut out the dark beauty of the Elf before him.

_Open your eyes!_

The command raged through his mind with such seductive force that he could not resist it but did as he was bid. It was the first time he had ever felt the uncanny presence of another in his thoughts and it both unnerved and excited him even further.

As soon as he unclosed his eyes to stare at Elladan, the warrior reached for his own breech-laces and slowly tugged them loose. Imrahil’s mouth went dry as the Elf’s already turgid shaft came into view, formidable even when quiescent, all but breath-stealing when thoroughly aroused. He almost stopped breathing when Elladan began to caress himself as well.

And then, to Imrahil’s amazement, the Elf-lord brought their lengths together and began to stroke them in unison. That swiftly unraveled the prince. His breathing quickly reduced to sobbing pants, Imrahil bucked up instinctively, the movement causing the now profusely slick columns to slide against each other, thereby adding to their joint pleasure.

He barely heard Elladan’s approving groan. His own bit back ecstatic cries hardly registered on him as he came to explosive release. And the sight of their mingled seed decadently coating the Elf’s hands served to lengthen and heighten his rapture.

He felt as drained and spent as a parched field under a blazing sun when he at last ceased to shake from his extended climax. When he could trust himself to speak lucidly at last, he looked at Elladan. The Elf now lay on his side to his right, raised on one arm. He was looking down at him with glittering eyes, his faintly flushed features evidence of his own completion.

“What you did—?” Imrahil haltingly said. “Why?”

Elladan regarded him solemnly. “You needed the relief,” he said.

Imrahil colored at the blunt answer. “I could have done that on my own,” he protested weakly. “There was no need to— to assist me in that manner.”

“Aye, but you would not have enjoyed it as much,” Elladan countered mildly. At Imrahil’s widened eyes, he added, “Surely you know that even amongst your men, ‘tis not uncommon to help a comrade find relief if there are no wenches to tumble.”

Imrahil sighed. “I know,” he said. “But ‘tis not something someone of my station can indulge in. ‘Tis an unspoken prohibition but a powerful one nonetheless. My warriors are leery of touching me in that manner and so have not done so. I have never—” He hesitated then pressed on. “I have never had any man pleasure me thusly.”

Elladan’s eyes gleamed darkly. “There is always a first time,” he quietly pointed out.

Imrahil swallowed hard at the lingering effects of _this_ first time. What could he expect from other “first times”? For he could no longer believe that the trip would end without further incident.

“Why didn’t you…?” He trailed off awkwardly, aware of the delicacy of his question. But Elladan did not balk at answering it.

“Not until you are ripe for it, Imrahil _nîn_ ”—my Imrahil—he softly replied. The hitch in the prince’s breath betrayed the latter’s perturbation at being addressed so familiarly and possessively. But Elladan did not desist from voicing his desire. “And I doubt you will remain unready for me much longer,” he drawled suggestively.

That caused Imrahil’s heart to beat rapidly once more. Striving to calm down and cast aside his anxieties, he turned his thoughts to something else.

“Elladan?” When the Elf looked at him inquiringly, he said, “Earlier, when I saw you? You looked as if you were communicating with someone. That star that shone so brightly upon you...?”

Elladan beamed gently. “‘Twas my grandsire, the mariner Eärendil. I trust you have heard of him from the lore your foremother passed down to you?” Imrahil nodded. With a lazy smile at the man, the Elf-lord murmured, “Good night, my prince. Sleep well.”

Imrahil had expected sleep to elude him after what had occurred. But the release he had experienced proved far more potent than any reservations he harbored about his companion’s demeanor. Not to mention something about the way Elladan bid him good night. As compelling as when he had spoken to him in his thoughts. Before he knew it he had slipped into deep, dreamless slumber.

Elladan studied him a while, eyes softening at the seeming innocence repose wrought upon the countenance of this so very comely prince of men. At length, he drew the blanket over Imrahil’s fair form then lay down upon his own pallet. But he did not sleep at once. Instead, his eyes glittered in the dark as he considered his next move. And a small smile curled the corners of his mouth.

*******************  
Glossary:  
ellon - male Elf

_To be continued…_


	7. Undoing

Things changed between them after that. How could they not when the Elf’s seduction of the man had already begun in earnest? There was no denying it; no pretending it had been nothing more than a casual instance of one helping the other find release. Because there had been nothing casual about it and there had been more to it than aiding a comrade in need. Elladan had made that clear ten years ago; Imrahil had never forgotten his suggestive farewell.

A decade was far too long a time to wait for a mere whim to be fulfilled.

Not that the Elf made any obvious overtures the whole of the following day. If anything, he was propriety personified in everything he said and did. Not once did he allude to the incident of the night before. Nor did he so much as touch the prince with anything more than basic courtesy and friendship. If Imrahil had not been lucid enough to recall what had passed between them, he might have thought it a wild and improbable dream. Until he looked into his companion’s eyes.

The grey pools promised what neither words nor deeds offered.

It was late afternoon when Imrahil finally found the courage to speak of the incident to the Elf. Which he thought absurd of himself. How could a man of his bountiful years with a handful of grandchildren to his name, an entire princedom at his beck and call and a sizable force of warriors under his command be so afraid to broach any matter of import?

When the matter entailed asking an Elf what his intentions were towards the prince’s noble self, that was how.

He looked at Elladan warily. The Elvenlord had settled himself beneath a graceful beech, long legs stretched before him, eyes unseeing in the manner of one absorbed in some inner musing. Deciding it would be best to speak to him while he was still capable of coherent thought, Imrahil rose from his perch by the tent and approached the Elf.

“Elladan?” he tentatively said, sinking to his knees before the warrior.

The pewter eyes slowly regained their focus. The Elf regarded him somberly.

“What troubles you, Imrahil?” he gently asked.

The prince drew a deep breath and said: “I would very much like to know what last night was about.” At the slight rise in the elegant eyebrows, he hastened to clarify his utterance. “You said you were waiting for my readiness,” he murmured. “How do you know that I ever will be? I have never dallied with a fellow male. Why do you think I would start now?”

A slow smile adorned the Elf-lord’s features, heightening his comeliness further. It was enough to cause Imrahil’s breath to quicken. That elicited a soft chuckle from Elladan.

“ _That_ is why among other things,” he said. “Besides, if what you say is true, last night would not have happened. The mere sight of me should not have bested you in any way.”

Imrahil flushed in full. He’d hoped Elladan had not perceived the source of his unraveling. A cool hand cupped his burning cheek and he was suddenly drawn closer.

“As I was bested by the sight of you,” Elladan whispered. The merest brush of the Elf’s lips over his was enough to set Imrahil’s skin simmering. Elladan smiled as he sensed the other’s immediate reaction. “You are far too beautiful for your own good, my prince. And very much worth a wait of ten years.”

Imrahil struggled to keep his composure. Elbereth! Even the Elf’s words were enough to set his heart racing.

“I think I shall take a walk,” he abruptly said and quickly rose to his feet.

“Aye,” Elladan agreed, his smiled now patently mischievous. “Methinks you need a distraction.”

He laughed softly as Imrahil rapidly strode away.

* * * *

The long walk sapped him of some of his excess energy but it did not in the least calm his restless spirit. As night neared once more, Imrahil found he could not still his fidgeting. It was the waiting that unnerved him most. He almost wished that Elladan would make a move—any move!—and be done with it. And at the same time, he feared just such an occurrence.

He could barely eat a bite that evening though he proved inordinately thirsty and consumed more wine than was his wont. He excused himself as soon as their meal was done to take his nightly dip in the spring. And found himself wishing for once that the water was of a much lower temperature.

Emerging, he quickly dried himself, the chill breeze raising goose bumps on his damp skin, and drew on a pair of night-breeches. He bent to pluck the accompanying shirt from atop the rock upon which he had laid his towel and clothes. A hand caught him by the wrist, stopping him. Startled, he glanced up into Elladan’s steady gaze.

“You will not need that tonight, my prince,” the Elf said with ominous mildness.

Imrahil caught his breath at the implicit meaning behind Elladan’s words. Tremors snaking through his limbs, he could only stare in shock at the other. But when the Elf began to shed his clothing for his own bath, he managed to collect enough of his wits to get him to the tent on his own two feet.

Once within its confines, he sank down onto his pallet, trembling almost violently. Trying to steady his riotous nerves, he drew up his knees, rested his elbows on them and buried his face in his hands. All his years as prince and warrior and lover availed him nothing in the face of this imminent initiation at the hands of the Elf who had captivated him without even trying all of ten years ago.

Imrahil shuddered. He could no longer deny it to himself. Elladan had entranced him from the start. Even when he had returned to Aerin’s arms after their farewells in Rohan, a part of him had never known the peace and certitude of self he’d known in all his years of marriage. He’d striven to conceal his confusion from his wife, fearful particularly when she fell ill that were she to discover his rowdy feelings, her demise would be hastened by disillusionment or, worse, a sense of betrayal.

But now she was no more and he was free. There was no longer any reason to hide the truth.

A hand dropped onto his shoulder and he started. He lifted his head. At once, a gentle but compelling hand cupped his face and he was forced to look up. He gasped as his mouth was caught in an openly covetous kiss, more searing than the caress the Elf had bestowed on him in the drill yard of Meduseld. The hand on his shoulder snaked around him and he was pulled back against the Elf’s chest while the hand that had cupped his face now moved down to touch and stroke and explore his torso.

And all the while, his mouth was plundered with a rapacity that left him bereft of almost all sentience. Trapped in Elladan’s powerful embrace, he could do nothing but yield to the Elf’s demands.

He was gasping harshly by the time his mouth was released. But he was given little time to recover from its pillaging before Elladan moved to suckle the side and crook of his neck. Meanwhile, the roaming hand tugged his breech-laces loose and snuck in to fondle him to a full and raging arousal. Whatever coherence remained to him was effectively shattered in that instant.

Panting helplessly by now, Imrahil could only grip one hard thigh behind him, his other hand clutching convulsively at the arm that held him fast. He would not last long if the Elf continued with his devastating attentions.

His mind was in turmoil. All his life, he had been suitor, pursuer and initiator. He had controlled and dominated as he had been taught by his father and all the men of his family. In battle, he would sooner choose death over ignominious surrender and captivity. In politics, he was no one’s puppet. He was of the ruling family of the great fief of Belfalas and bent his knee to no man save the King of Gondor. He had no experience in total submission; of being at another’s mercy.

But in this instance, he was at Elladan’s mercy. And to his consternation, his body sought the experience, overruling his mind’s objections.

Shaking like a leaf in a storm, he gave in and did as Elladan desired. With a gasping groan, he spilled himself into the Elf’s demanding hand. Spent, he fell back against the warrior somewhat limply even as he struggled to retrieve his widely scattered wits.

Elladan nuzzled his neck and shoulder, blessing the sun-kissed flesh with shiver-inducing nips and kisses. “Much too beautiful,” he murmured, his voice rough with undeniable lust. He laid the now pliant man down on his pallet. It was only then that it registered on Imrahil that the Elf was completely unclothed.

He stared up at the Elvenlord, apprehension limning his grey-tinged aquamarine eyes. He had marched to Mordor and felt little more than anxiety for his men despite knowing their cause was ultimately hopeless and the end sure to be painful and bitter. But this approaching invasion of his own body elicited a burgeoning fear that stemmed from the realization that he risked the wholeness of his very spirit once he embarked on this adventure. He was being asked to do the previously unthinkable. To surrender ere the battle was engaged.

His breath caught when Elladan leaned down and administered a kiss of such gentleness as he had not thought possible in a man. Responding instinctively, he reached up and slipped his hand behind the Elf’s nape, pulling him closer for a deeper kiss. Elladan obliged and, without foregoing his gentleness, engaged the prince in a heated duel of mouth and tongue and lips.

When they drew apart, he studied Imrahil’s flushed features and swollen lips and knew the man quite ready for him. Ripe for his picking indeed.

Elladan pulled the prince’s loosened breeches down his lean form and cast them aside, eyes sparkling when Imrahil raised his hips to ease their passage. He smoothly straddled Imrahil and, with a beckoning smile, proceeded to show him the incomparable delights of an Elf’s pleasuring.

Imrahil groaned as the Elf’s lips caressed his torso, gasped as each already peaked nipple was drawn into moist warmth to be sucked and nipped until they ached deliciously. He bit his lip to stifle his moans when Elladan stroked his thighs while he continued downwards, dipping his tongue teasingly into the man’s navel before peppering his flat belly with a spate of searing laps and kisses.

But when the Elf’s lips came perilously close to his rigid shaft he could not help a shuddery whimper. And when Elladan all unexpectedly drew his tongue up its length, Imrahil yelped in shock. He raised himself up on his elbows to stare at the warrior. Elladan’s response was to meet and ensnare his eyes and keep them riveted on him as he closed his lips around the hard column and drew upon it with long, slow strokes.

A rasping moan escaped Imrahil then. As the Elf’s caresses intensified, his arms gave way and he fell back. And when Elladan suddenly released him, leaving him on the brink of fulfillment, then took him deeply once more, he dug his fingers so hardily into his pallet that it seemed he would rip right through it. Valar! Where had the Elf learned to do that?

It was not something performed by most women of gentle birth even for their husbands. It was not something expected of them. Whores on the other hand knew all the tricks of their disreputable trade and plied them accordingly. But no harlot lingered in such ministrations lest a bedding be prolonged and cost her another patron’s servicing and payment for said servicing. Thus, this unhurried, exploratory attention to his need was as astonishing as it was enrapturing.

Feeling he would expire from the drawn out pleasure of it, Imrahil cried out imploringly. “Elladan, please! I cannot take this! Have mercy for Eru’s sake!”

He almost wept in relief when the Elf-lord ceased his suckling to lightly stroke his throbbing member with his fingers. “You may have reason to rue your plea,” Elladan murmured, a thrilling threat in his voice.

He moved up and drew the trembling man into his arms, melding their tall frames snugly together. Shorn of the Elf’s edacious pleasuring, Imrahil felt the tumult within him subside to a more bearable level. Elbereth only knew what completion would have done to his poor heart, he thought.

He felt the Elf press his lips to his brow. It made him feel like a youngster. And then it occurred to him that, to Elladan, he was. For all that he was of an age that would be called venerable amongst mortals, in the eyes of an Elf he was little more than a stripling. And a very green one if he considered Elladan’s thousands of years of existence. He sighed at the profundity of feelings that thought wrought.

Imrahil smiled slightly against Elladan’s neck when the Elf reached down and lifted his leg to drape it over his thigh. He paid no mind when Elladan’s hand slithered caressingly along his hip until it reached his firm bottom. But an instant later, he jerked his head up when one long finger gently but firmly breached him. Stiffening in shock, he stared a moment at Elladan before attempting to wriggle out of the latter’s arms. But the Elf held him fast.

“Wait! What are you—?” the man gasped.

He was silenced by a demanding kiss. And the finger withdrew only to become two. Then three. Duly alarmed, unused to such methods of acquainting an untried _ellon_ , or male Elf, with the sensation of penetration, Imrahil tried to push away. And came up against the sheer, unyielding strength of the Elf-lord. On the verge of panicking, he wrenched his mouth away to demand that the Elf cease his play. And then it happened.

A slight stroke of those intruding fingers and toe-curling pleasure raged through his very nerves. He hissed at the unexpected feeling. Sensation steadily waxed with every caress within him until he had ceased to resist the Elf and clutched tremblingly at him instead, moaning when Elladan dipped his head to press kisses to his throat.

He drew in a shuddery breath when Elladan at last released him and let him lie back. The Elf-lord gazed down at him, eyes nearly black with desire.

“I am sorry I did not warn you,” he murmured. “But I doubt you would have let me prepare you properly had you known what I was going to do.”

“Oh Eru,” Imrahil whispered. “It has come to that.”

A small smile graced the Elf’s handsome face. “Aye, it has come to that,” he softly said. “I have waited ten years for this moment, Imrahil. And I suspect, so have you.”

The prince closed his eyes and swallowed hard. He could still feel the lingering sensation of the Elf’s fingers within him. He could not imagine in the least how he could possibly accommodate anything longer and decidedly larger.

_But you can, my fair_ adanedhel. _You were made for it._

He opened his eyes in surprise. He had previously believed that the extent of the Elf’s powers lay in projecting his thoughts. He had not expected that Elladan could read other’s thoughts as well. It made him feel all the more vulnerable.

“I do not invade other’s minds intentionally,” Elladan quietly told him. “But your fear makes yours easily accessible to me.” He ran his knuckles gently along Imrahil’s sculpted cheek. “Trust me, Imrahil. Your pleasure is as important to me as my own.”

Imrahil regarded him intently then nodded and strove to relax. “Should I turn over?” he forced himself to ask. The memory of Legolas and Elrohir’s coupling remained a potent memory.

Elladan smiled and shook his head. “I prefer to see your face as I fill you,” he said.

Color flooded the prince’s face at the provocative reply. But he did not object and only waited for the Elf’s guidance. He watched in fascination as Elladan used their mingled seed to salve his ready shaft. And he did not balk when his legs were lifted and urged around the warrior’s waist. Only when he felt an unaccustomed hardness press against him did he betray some trepidation, his eyes closing against the certain shock of his piercing.

Elladan took him with one sure thrust. A strangled cry issued then from the prince. He took several deep breaths, trying to calm his frantically beating heart and ignore the discomfort within him. At length, he opened his eyes and met the waiting gaze of his lover.

Imrahil bit his lip then, like the soldier that he was, nodded his readiness. Elladan waited no more but began to move, using long, deep thrusts to stroke the man from within anew. Imrahil moaned as the sensations unfurled once more, waxing steadily with every incursion into his body. Soon, the sensations spiraled into unparalleled bliss and soft, incoherent sounds spilled from his lips.

When Elladan closed his hand around his taut shaft and began to stroke it, he gasped at the almost unendurable pleasure. His gasps evolved into helpless sobs as his entire being was reduced to a mass of maddeningly delectable sensations. He reached out and gripped the Elf’s thighs desperately, trying to retain some control of himself.

Again he sensed the Elf-lord in his mind. _Let go, Imrahil_ nîn. _Let me see your pleasure._

Control was wrenched from him. Sentience was shattered. And rapture exploded with fearsome ferocity in his groin, searing tendrils of it racing through his body even unto the very reaches of his limbs. He cried out hoarsely as it overwhelmed him. He who had never so much as made more noise than a stifled gasp or smothered groan in all his years of bed-play now gave vocal vent to his feelings for the second time in as many nights.

Unthinkingly, he clenched his muscles around Elladan’s pulsing shaft, the compelling urge to lengthen the pleasure taking precedence over everything else. It was all that was needed to undo Elladan as well.

Imrahil stared with half-lidded eyes at his lover. Watched with dazed fascination as the Elf-lord lost himself to his pleasure. Saw how the powerful shoulders and arms trembled and the Elf’s white skin stained with the crimson of his release. He realized then how much it pleased him to witness Elladan’s surrender to his joy. He caught the Elf to him as the latter collapsed onto his chest in the wake of his completion.

It was many moments before they found the wherewithal to breathe deeply once more. Several seconds before they thought to untangle their sated bodies. Imrahil sank into Elladan’s embrace as he awaited the slowing of his racing heart.

Only when he felt quite himself again did he lift his head to gaze at the Elf. “Is it always thus when two Elves couple?” he queried softly, his voice tinged with some awe.

Elladan considered the question. “Not always but more oft than not, aye, it is thus,” he said. At Imrahil’s wondering look, he added: “When the mind is as engaged as the body, the love-act can be very intense.” He ran his finger along the man’s lips. “You are very receptive to my thoughts. Mayhap you are similarly blessed.”

Imrahil thought back to the almost excruciating pleasure of their joining. “I am not certain if I should be pleased or not,” he ruefully admitted.

Elladan chuckled softly, comprehending the reason for his ambivalence. “Surely you are not daunted by this,” he teased. “I assure you, it gets even better with practice.”

“Better?” Imrahil almost choked. He groaned and fell back into Elladan’s arms. “I shall surely pass away if it gets any better!”

The Elf-lord’s controlled mirth gave way to outright laughter. “But at least you will do so with a smile and a wide one at that,” he chortled.

Imrahil snorted and turned a jaundiced eye on him. But Elladan swiftly wiped away his umbrage with a salacious, heart-stopping kiss. Imrahil stared at him when the caress ended.

“Surely you do not intend to–to—” he sputtered.

Elladan grinned rakishly and pressed Imrahil down upon his pallet once more. “Elves can go on forever,” he informed the stunned prince.

“But I am no Elf!” Imrahil protested. “Only the descendant of one.”

“Then let us find out how much elven-blood you bear!” Elladan wickedly said and silenced further protests with more of his peerless ministrations.

**************************  
Glossary:  
adanedhel - man-elf  
Imrahil nîn - my Imrahil

_To be continued…_


	8. Musings

_Rhîw_ F.A. 8  
Only the lightest powdering of snow adorned the fair woods of Ithilien and even then not in all places. And the air while crisp was not unbearably cold. In the south, winters were by and large as mild as the summers were invariably fierce.

Imrahil trod the now familiar path through the groves behind Legolas’s halls, a thick cloak about his tall frame all that was needed to ward off the biting breeze. He had always been more resistant to the extremes of climate than most men, a fact he’d been thankful for when he’d been forced to stay afield at the heights of either winter or summer during the Dark Lord’s ascendancy. Just as the worst winters fazed him little, so was he seldom troubled by the heat of a Gondor summer.

It was his third visit to the elven colony in as many months. He could not help it. It beckoned to him irresistibly. Whether that was due to its enchanting elvishness or the allure of a certain Elf, he did not know. He only knew that he felt very much at home here though he was the only mortal in its denizens’ midst. More at home even than in Emyn Arnen.

As he passed beneath one still surprisingly leaf-bedecked tree, he heard a low whistle from above. Looking up with a start, he grinned when he found himself staring into Legolas’s sapphire eyes. The Elf was perched on one of the branches, his long legs stretched out along the length of the tree limb. He patted the stout branch to his left in tacit invitation.

After some hesitation, Imrahil threw dignity to the chill wind and clambered up the tree to take the proffered seat. Legolas chuckled approvingly. Until Imrahil winced unexpectedly when he settled on the branch. The Elf frowned with concern and reached out a steadying hand.

“Are you all right?” he queried.

Imrahil nodded. “Aye, do not worry about me. I am only in need of some respite.” The man groaned and leaned back against the trunk. “Your law-brother is ... inexhaustible”

A peal of laughter greeted this understated observation. “Elrohir is no different,” Legolas grinningly said. “All the Peredhil are well endowed in more than their forms. Even the Lord Elrond had quite a reputation when Lady Celebrían still abided in Rivendell.”

“Did he now?” Imrahil said interestedly.

“Most assuredly,” Legolas snickered. “I warrant she languished in Valinor for want of his attention.”

Imrahil stared at him with some astonishment. “You are wicked of tongue even with your kin-by-law!”

“And you are easily discomfited for a warrior of great prowess and peerless repute,” Legolas shot back with a chuckle.

Imrahil sighed. “Even in my dissolute youth, I was never as free with my opinions on such matters as you or the brethren,” he admitted. “Such openness astonishes me.”

“Then forgive me mine,” Legolas said. “But if I am at ease speaking of them in so familiar a manner, ‘tis because I _am_ familiar with them.”

His assertion recalled to Imrahil the conversation he’d had with Elladan during their pivotal camping trip. He said: “Elladan tells me you and Elrohir have known each other for all of your nine hundred years.”

Legolas nodded in confirmation. “I cannot clearly recall a time when I did not know him,” he replied with much tenderness. “He has been a part of my life since the day I was born. I cannot conceive of an existence bereft of his presence. And I am always loathe to part from him.”

“Yet you took an oath that compels you to do just that.”

The Elf’s eyes clouded over then. “I made mistakes,” he said in a hushed voice. “Out of folly and pride and misguided fears. ‘Tis for one of those errors that he and I will perforce pay should he have to leave Middle-earth before Aragorn passes away.” Legolas’s eyes glistened mournfully. “My sole comfort is the knowledge that I will be with him once more and that we will never be parted again.” After a pensive while, he forcibly discarded his melancholic mood and glanced at the man. “But you, my lord? You have no such consolation for the loss of your wife. How do you fare now?”

Imrahil did not speak at once and Legolas did not press him to do so. At length a faint smile curled his lips. “I cannot deny that I miss her to this day. We were wed longer than we were free. And she was as much my friend and confidante as she was my wife and lover. But her loss no longer grieves me as it did ere I came here. The wound has healed in this place you have built, Legolas. Because of the peace I have felt here. Because of your people’s kindness and merry ways.” He paused. “Because of Elladan,” he said under his breath.

Legolas’s eyes had softened with the man’s recitation of his passage to healing. But at the mention of the older twin, they glittered curiously. “Do you love him?” he murmured.

Imrahil was startled by the direct question. He looked a little uncertainly at the Elf-prince. And then he shook his head. “I do not know,” he confessed. “This has all been so sudden that I have not even had the chance to examine my feelings. Eru, before I met him, I had not even thought of the possibility of two men coupling, let alone that I would know the experience myself or consider giving my heart to one.”

Legolas indulged in a sympathetic chuckle. “But surely you do not regret it,” he said.

“Nay, I do not,” Imrahil smiled. “Only a fool would rue something that has brought him joy. There is so little of it as it is in many a life.”

Legolas regarded him with the air of a brother. And brothers they were in the choices of their hearts however brief or lasting. He reached out a hand and clasped the man’s shoulder in comradely fashion.

“You will always be welcome here, Imrahil,” he said warmly.

* * * *

The cold season passed more swiftly than Imrahil could possibly like. From his initial hesitation to winter in his nephew’s abode, he had swung widely in the opposite direction and was now reluctant to end his stay and return to his seaward realm. He had made several visits to the elven colony in the course of the season. Each time he had come back to Emyn Arnen refreshed and high in spirits.

It was as if his sojourns with the Elves rejuvenated him. As Éowyn remarked at one point to her husband, it seemed as if his uncle looked younger than when he first arrived in Ithilien, strange and impossible though it sounded. Faramir had not been able to gainsay her.

On two occasions Legolas and the brethren had come to Emyn Arnen instead. The first to celebrate Elboron’s birthing-day and the second to attend the winter festival held in the city each January’s end. Both times they had been guests of Faramir. And both times, by luck or by fate, Imrahil and Elladan had wound up in neighboring chambers.

It was during the latter visit that Imrahil came to recognize the nature of his feelings with regards to his Elven lover.

The prince looked out at the near empty streets of the city from his window. His chamber was one of those that overlooked the outer wall of his nephew’s keep and thus afforded him a view of the normally busy avenues beyond. But it was now after dusk and the cold had deepened with the sinking of the pallid winter sun. Only the most hardy of folk enjoyed the outdoors at this time of the day.

Elves among them, Imrahil thought smilingly as he espied Elrohir and Legolas sauntering down the darkening road back to the hold. A moment later, he chortled when Legolas playfully chucked a fistful of snow at the Elf-knight. Elrohir did not hesitate to retaliate in kind and soon a lively battle took place just outside the walls of Faramir’s halls. It ended when Elrohir suddenly tackled Legolas and both landed behind a nice thick clump of snow-mantled brush. They did not emerge at once.

Imrahil shook his head. They were daring to take the risk of being seen in so public a place. But then again, he had witnessed their razor sharp senses and lightning quick reflexes frequently enough to know that any mortal had as much chance of sneaking up on them unnoticed as a herd of Mûmakil attempting to invade Emyn Arnen unseen and unheard. He snickered at the thought.

“What is there to amuse you so heartily, my prince?”

Imrahil turned to regard the darkling Elf who graced his bed with such sleek adamantine beauty. Elladan had come to his chamber early this evening bearing a basket of bread, cheese and fruit and a pitcher of mulled wine. Faramir was entertaining some noble guests and that entailed a formality of manner and dress that none of the Elves could endure. At least, not when said guests were of a party of insufferable, long-winded barons who thought nothing of regaling one and all with the dullest tales this side of Anduin. Hence Elrohir and Legolas’s decision to dine at a nearby inn and the reason for Elladan to bring dinner to Imrahil’s room.

Of course, dinner had ended not with a toast, but with a tumble. Imrahil drew his robe more snugly around him in an unconscious effort to conceal the never-ending telltale love-bruises on his neck and shoulders. Elladan, however, flaunted his even when in the presence of others. It had led to much speculation amongst the residents of the keep as to which lusty wench, blue-blooded or not, was keeping the Elvenlord’s bed warm. Imrahil dryly considered the consequences should any ever discover that ‘twas no wench who kept the Elf company.

“A snow fight between two Elves makes for considerable entertainment,” he answered Elladan. “As does their truce-making afterwards.” Elladan laughed at this lubricious allusion. “Though you really must counsel them to observe proper decorum,” Imrahil added. “We are not amongst your people after all.”

Elladan snorted humorously. “I? Lecture my brother on propriety?” he retorted mildly. “I should have as much credibility as an Orc urging peace and goodwill on his fellows.”

Imrahil chuckled. “Then I suppose I will have to take that task upon myself.”

Elladan eyed him languorously. “I would rather you shed that robe,” he drawled. “And come back to bed, Imrahil _nîn_.”—my Imrahil.

That effectively heated up every nerve in Imrahil’s body. “‘Tis not even Elboron’s bedtime and already we have rutted enough for any five couples in the keep,” he protested.

“And we shall rut enough for another five,” Elladan rejoined. “Now then, are you coming here or must I persuade you?”

Mindful of the noise that always ensued under the warrior’s methods of persuasion, Imrahil duly complied and, after shrugging off his robe, slid back into bed beside Elladan. It was nearly an hour later before they could turn their attention to more mundane matters.

Nestled in Elladan’s arms, Imrahil pondered his conflicted feelings. On the one hand, he was inclined to be cautious about getting in any deeper than he was already. But on the other, he had not felt so much felicity and contentment as he had found in Elladan’s company. Not even with his beloved wife, he realized with a mix of consternation and wonder. He considered what this incipient feeling might portend for him.

Elladan cared for him, that much he believed to be true. The Elf was unfailingly affectionate with him and as far as desire was concerned, there was not a speck of doubt as to where Elladan’s lay. But he was mortal. What Elf would venture his love in a relationship that was doomed to end from the very start of it? If his feelings blossomed into active love, he could not expect the same of Elladan. At most, he would have to make do with the Elf’s tender regard and inimitable friendship. Unaccountably, a wave of sadness overcame him and he sighed dolefully.

“What is wrong?” Elladan murmured against his hair.

Imrahil shook his head, reluctant to reveal his concerns and thus burden his lover in turn. “‘Tis only that winter will soon come to an end and I will need to return to Belfalas,” he offered instead. “I confess it disheartens me.”

Elladan stroked his hair then pressed a kiss to his chestnut crown. It was gestures such as this that made Imrahil believe that there was more to the Elf’s attentions than mere lust.

“And Elrohir and I will have to journey north come spring,” he said. “I will need to comfort my poor brother for many a year until he can be with Legolas again.”

Imrahil longed to ask the Elf if he would need comforting himself but he bit the question back. He would not give Elladan reason to think that he was turning maudlin and possessive with him.

“When do you think will you come back south?” he asked, hoping his anxiety did not show.

“I do not know for certain,” Elladan admitted. “The Elves west of the Misty Mountains look to my brother and me for guidance and assistance. And my grandsire Celeborn does not fare well when we are away.”

“He lives with you?” Imrahil asked, remembering the tall and majestic silver-haired Elf who was husband to the former Lady of the Wood.

“Aye, for many years now. He resided awhile in the south of Greenwood with many of his Galadhrim. But he wearied of that realm and at last came to Imladris to dwell with us.”

“He misses his lady,” Imrahil whispered.

“Very much.”

“Why then did he not sail with her?”

“He was not ready to forsake Middle-earth. Nor is he now. Indeed, I believe he will outstay us all save perhaps for Legolas’s father, Thranduil.” He pursed his lips musingly. “‘Tis passing difficult to leave the place of one’s birth for a strange land. It will not surprise me should grandfather wait until the last ship to Valinor sets sail.”

Imrahil fell silent. The feeling of loneliness and abandonment grew even stronger with the telling of the Elves’ own partings.

“Then I suppose this will be the last we shall see of each other,” he said, his voice surprisingly steady and strong. But the effort it took… “It will be hard to bid you farewell come winter’s end, Elladan. I only pray you will remember me with fondness at the very least.”

Silence greeted his words and he wondered if he should have uttered them at all. And then Elladan’s fingers ran through his locks once more, gently, slowly.

“Fie on you to speak of parting and sorrow this soon,” Elladan said. He added lightly: “Besides, you can always come to Rivendell and visit me if you wish.”

Imrahil lifted his head and looked at his lover in surprise. “I have never journeyed so far before,” he remarked.

Elladan smiled. “Then if you should come north, I shall make sure you get to explore as much of the region around Imladris as possible.”

Imrahil smiled back, feeling much comforted by the unexpected invitation. “I would like that indeed,” he said.

Elladan drew him down again into a liquid kiss. “Enough talk for now,” he whispered against Imrahil’s lips. “I would rather put your mouth to better use.”

**********************  
Glossary:  
rhîw – Sindarin for winter  
Galadhrim – the people of Lothlórien

_To be continued…_


	9. Sojourn

_Ethuil_ F.A. 14  
The climate turned slightly cooler and the foliage changed markedly as the party of travellers headed further north. Going by the western roads and stopping only for the briefest of rests, they moved swiftly, covering the distance from Gondor to the north in less time than most other journeymen managed it.

Legolas, youngest Elven prince of Eryn Lasgalen, glanced at the rider to his left and smiled. The latter was looking about him with the fascination of one who took great pleasure in discovering new environs. Imrahil had not pestered him during the trip but the man’s palpable interest and elation was enough to spur any Elf to answer his unspoken questions anyway. There was simply something about his manner that touched his Elf-companions and moved them to befriend him.

His inclusion in the group had been quite sudden. Legolas had gone to Minas Tirith to inform Elessar that he would be leaving for the north for a lengthy period of time. For Rivendell, to be precise. It so happened that Imrahil was also visiting the Guarded City as was his duty from time to time being one of the members of the Great Council of Gondor. He was alone with Aragorn when Legolas sought an audience with the king.

“Ah, and has Elrohir summoned you?” Aragorn murmured with a smile. Legolas had not requested that Imrahil leave and so the king had taken that as an indication that the Belfalas lord knew about the relationship of the two Elves.

Legolas smiled back and shook his head. “Nay, I go because I miss him,” he honestly replied. “We have not seen each other in six years. ‘Tis quiet in Ithilien now and I can leave my people for a long spell.”

Aragorn nodded understandingly. “Extend my regards to my brothers then,” he said. “And do tell Arwen of your plans. She may wish to send them letters or gifts.”

Legolas had hardly left the council chamber when Imrahil hurriedly excused himself and went after him. The Elf halted when the prince hailed him and waited for the latter’s approach.

“Legolas, about your journey north,” Imrahil began. “When will you leave for Rivendell?”

“Within the week,” Legolas answered. Noting Imrahil’s slight indecision, he said, “Why, Imrahil? Is there something you wish for me to tell or deliver to Elladan?”

Imrahil snorted. “Not unless you care to deliver a man,” he said dryly. At Legolas’s astonished reaction, he added, “‘Tis only that before we parted ways, Elladan extended an invitation to me to visit him in Rivendell.”

Legolas’s face cleared and brightened. “And you would like to accept it now,” he said.

Imrahil nodded a little sheepishly. “I have not found the time to get away for such a long sojourn but, as with Ithilien, Belfalas is quiet and my sons can rule in my stead for a goodly while,” he explained. “I had been thinking of it, but I do not know the way and, save for the king and queen, there are few in Gondor who do.”

Legolas held up his hand. “Say no more, _meldiren_ ”—my friend—he assured the prince. “You are most welcome to join me. And Elladan will be happy to see you.”

Imrahil beamed widely. “Thank you, Legolas. I am indebted to you.”

And so, here he was in the company of Elves once more and seeming no different from them especially with his cloak hood up. One would think him just another composed Elf making his way to the remaining realms of the Firstborn in the north. But deep within he was far from composed. Not when a part of him was wondering if his decision to join Legolas was wise. And the other part pondering his reason for doing so.

'Because I miss him,' he admitted to himself anew. And missed him every day of the six years since they’d last seen each other in Ithilien. He sighed inwardly. The only other time he had felt this terrible yearning had been when Aerin still lived. He had suffered through their partings with outer dignity but little inner peace. Upon her death, he’d thought he was done with affairs of the heart. Until he met Elladan once more in Emyn Arnen.

Things had never been the same for him again.

* * * *

They made the trek down the steep path into the hidden vale of Imladris just as the afternoon was drawing to a close. Imrahil was conscious of hidden presences all about but could not see any sign of them. Beside him Legolas gestured to the groves of fragrant pines and thick clusters of brush.

“They are all around us yet you will never see them unless they will it,” he said softly. “But they will bring word of our arrival to the brethren.” His keen eyes glimmered in the burnished light of the waning day. “‘Tis different since so many Elves left with Lord Elrond,” he murmured. “It used to be that one would be greeted by the sounds of merriment and singing ere one reached the bottom of the cleft. There is still much joy and song in Imladris, but it is muted now. Its time is drawing to a close and soon this valley will be no more than legend.”

Imrahil felt the Elf’s melancholy at the inexorable passing of his kindred into the histories of Middle-earth. He tried to imagine a world where the Elves would only be a memory and not as he now knew them—tangible living and breathing beings as beautiful as the day and sage as the night. The thought saddened him immeasurably.

He felt his excitement rise anew, however, when they crossed the river and headed for The Last Homely House as Legolas had referred to it. Imrahil shook his head mentally at the egregious understatement of the name. This was no house they approached, but one of the most enchanting abodes he had ever had the pleasure to see. Yet as they neared it he began to understand the appellation. 

These halls did not exude the distant coolness of some great lord’s seat, but a coziness and warmth that belied the elegant sprawl of the entire estate.

His heart skipped a beat when he caught his first sight of the twins awaiting them in the stone-paved courtyard before the house. Behind them were several members of their household.

Elrohir did not hide his impatience in the least and no sooner did Legolas’s steed enter the courtyard than he strode forward to meet his mate. Hardly had Legolas dismounted when he was swept into an ardent embrace, his mouth crushed against Elrohir’s in a breath-stealing caress. Imrahil would have whistled were it not beneath his station to behave like a common foot soldier.

He noted the utter lack of embarrassment on either Elf’s part and wondered at their ease about such openness before others. At the same time, he found he envied them just the tiniest bit. Even he and Aerin had had to be circumspect in their demeanor when in the presence of others. It was not a thing accepted by most men to flaunt their desires. He could still recall the shock that had ensued in the wake of Elessar’s overheated reception of his bride-to-be when first she came to Minas Tirith. It must be liberating to be able to show one’s love so honestly and unashamedly, he thought wistfully.

At length, a grinning Elladan tapped his brother on the shoulder and said with a chuckle, “We all understand your eagerness, _gwanneth_ ”—younger twin—“but I suggest you retire to your chamber and do whatever it is you wish in private!”

The lovers broke apart laughing under their breaths. Still grinning, Elladan spared a sweeping glance for Legolas’s escort, mentally tallying how many warriors to provide quarters for. Realizing the Elf-lord had not recognized him, Imrahil pulled back the hood of his cloak.

Elladan’s eyes widened upon seeing him. For a moment, the Elf could only stare at him as if unable to believe his eyes. “Imrahil?” he finally said, darting a questioning look at Legolas.

The Elven prince clapped a hand to his forehead and said, “Ai, forgive me. I was so overjoyed to see Elrohir again, I forgot Prince Imrahil’s presence!”

Noting his twin’s odd expression, Elrohir remarked, “You made no mention of this in your last letter.”

Imrahil broke in at this point, himself disturbed by Elladan’s reaction. “I asked to join him only after he sent word of his journey here,” he explained. “I hope I have not come at an inappropriate time?”

“Not at all,” Elrohir said, coming forward to take the prince’s hands in his in greeting. “Welcome to Imladris, Imrahil. I trust your journey was smooth and uneventful?”

“Completely,” Imrahil smiled. “There is something to be said for travelling in the company of Elves. Miscreants make themselves scarce rather than pit themselves against your kindred.”

“Ah, but not Orcs,” Legolas said. “We are fortunate they are no longer as numerous as they once were.”

“Indeed,” Elrohir agreed. He looked pointedly at his brother. “But where are our manners, _muindor_?”—brother. “Imrahil must be weary and would appreciate some rest before the evening meal. Erestor’s room, do you think?”

“Aye, it overlooks the gardens,” Elladan quietly said. “Come, my prince, let me present you to our grandsire Celeborn and then I will take you to your quarters.”

Imrahil was too much a nobleman and a soldier to display whatever feelings he must have felt at Elladan’s less than enthusiastic welcome. Still and all, a shadow of his confusion registered on his countenance and after he passed them to follow the Elf-lord, Legolas looked inquiringly at Elrohir when they, too, entered the house.

“What is wrong with Elladan?” Legolas whispered. “That was hardly the kind of reception I had expected him to give Imrahil.”

Elrohir shook his head. “I am certain he will realize his error and rectify it.”

“I hope so,” Legolas murmured. “Imrahil does not deserve such treatment after making the effort to come here. And at Elladan’s invitation no less.”

Elrohir glanced at him. “Elladan invited him?”

Legolas frowned. “So Imrahil said when he asked to join me.”

“Strange. Elladan made no mention of that to me.”

“Well, I see no reason to doubt Imrahil’s word.”

“Nor do I.” Seeing Legolas’s displeased expression, Elrohir sighed and said, “I will speak to him on this.” He curled an arm around the archer’s waist. “But for now I would like to give you a proper welcome, _melethron_.”—lover.

At that, Legolas’s frown dissipated and he smilingly allowed his spouse to usher him to their chamber.

* * * *

A hot bath was the supreme balm for the aching muscles of several days' riding for Elf, Man or other Free Folk. Imrahil was no different and he eased himself into the steaming water with a grateful sigh. Rather than assign a guest chamber to him, the brethren had given him their chief counsellor’s old room, which had its own bathing chamber. Imrahil had been thankful for it meant he would not need to seek out the public baths.

Feeling as he did at the moment, he preferred the solitude of his room than the convivial atmosphere that necessarily pervaded public bathing rooms. He needed time to assimilate all that he had seen and heard in the hours since his arrival in the legendary refuge.

The first thing that had struck him was its air of ancient age and lore. Founded some sixteen centuries before Minas Tirith, Rivendell belonged to an era of myth and mystery. Compared to this haven, Dol Amroth was a virtual adolescent. And the sense of otherworldliness ran deep here. Deeper even than in the elven colony in Ithilien.

Legolas’s folk were Wood-elves from Greenwood. Only the archer himself was of Grey-elven blood, but he tended to carry himself as a Silvan Elf rather than an Elda. Here in Rivendell, every citizen to an Elf was sprung from the ancient races that had returned from Valinor or abided in Doriath in the First Age. 

In this later time, only a few Noldor remained, mostly descendants of the original exiles from Aman. They were outnumbered by Sindar such as the Lord Celeborn and the steward-minstrel Lindir whose ties to Middle-earth were so strong they would likely delay their departure until the last of the Elves left the Hither Shores.

If Imrahil had been fascinated when so many of the Eldar had come to Minas Tirith to witness their Evenstar’s wedding to Elessar, all the more was he now awestruck, here in the heart of one of their most venerable realms. He could only imagine what it must have been like at the height of Elrond’s power. When Vilya protected the vale.

He had learned that much from the twins during his extended holiday in Ithilien all of six years ago. He had finally understood why Elrond and the Lady Galadriel had seemed so weary and eager to leave Middle-earth. Tied closely to the rings they had guarded for millennia, they had been duly affected when said rings lost their power. They had diminished as the rings had diminished and only Valinor could restore them to wholeness once more.

Seated on the low ledge that ran along the circumference of the tub, he leaned back against its tiled wall, closed his eyes and let the warm water soothe his tired body. He could not complain about his treatment. Dinner had lifted his spirits not only due to the excellence of the food and wine but also because of the witty repartee that had accompanied the meal. The musical performances and recital of tales and poetry in the Hall of Fire had further leavened his mood.

It was only when he returned to his chamber that a measure of heavyheartedness returned. And it had to do with Elladan.

The Elf-lord had been an exemplary host throughout the evening. He had been solicitous of Imrahil’s comfort and needs and drew him time and again into whatever conversations there were around them. One could not fault him in the least as far as duty was concerned. And that was what had troubled Imrahil most. 

Elladan had acted as if he were duty-bound and not as if he and the mortal prince had come together in the most intimate of ways once upon a time.

'Was I wrong to come here?' he wondered pensively. 'Mayhap I should not have presumed upon his hospitality without prior warning. Mayhap I should leave.' The very idea of going so soon grieved him.

He now knew that what he felt for the Elf-lord was not just the suddenly awakened desires wrought of his long-ignored elven heritage. As soon as he’d lain eyes on Elladan once more, he’d known the truth and thought to fight it at first. But it was not a fight he could win. He had lost his heart once. He had not thought himself destined to lose it anew. But he had and to one he deemed beyond his grasp.

He did not expect a reciprocation of his love. It was too much for a mortal to ask that of an eternal being. But he had hoped Elladan felt some affection for him at the very least. Even the ephemeral affection uncommitted lovers held for each other. It was not what his heart yearned for; he had ever been one to give wholly of himself or not at all. But he had decided he would be content with that if that was all that was to be had.

'He may have felt something of the sort then,' Imrahil thought sadly. 'But not now. Not any more.' He sighed again. 'I did not even consider that he may have found himself another lover in all these years.' He bit his lip as even the very thought caused his heart to ache with a dull pain.

The faintest splash caught his attention and he opened his eyes to see what had caused it. He caught his breath to find Elladan before him.

The Elf-lord had unbound his hair and it now flowed down his back and spilled about his shoulders in silken profusion. Imrahil gasped as knowing hands slid up his torso, the supple fingers kneading tight muscles even as they stroked his skin. He felt himself suddenly possessed of an arousal so potent he felt fit to burst.

“What is this about?” he asked, fighting to keep his voice steady.

Elladan’s smile was restrained, apologetic. “My welcome earlier was worse than inadequate,” he murmured. “I would make amends for it, Imrahil _nîn_.”

The prince gazed at him, his countenance grave. Managing to ignore the fast blossoming build up of pleasure within him a while longer, he expressed his unease.

“I am sorry if my coming here upset you,” he said, unable to keep some tightness out of his voice. “I will leave soonest if you will provide me with a guide. I do not wish to presume on your—”

Elladan silenced him with a kiss of such searing ardor it effectively threw his thoughts into passionate turmoil. An attempt to return them to some semblance of order was promptly foiled when Elladan pulled him into his arms and allowed their rigid shafts to slide against each other in rhythm. 

Imrahil gasped against the Elf’s lips as the pressure in his groin became near unbearable. It had been far too long since he’d lain with another and known the rapture of release.

_Do not hold back, my prince. Have your pleasure now._

The command was like a caress in his mind. Barely managing to stifle his cry of release, Imrahil gave in to his body’s fervent need. A moment later, he knew Elladan to have found his when the Elf buried his face in the crook of his neck and sucked hard at the flesh there, surely marking it for days to come. Imrahil felt a sharp pleasure stir through him that Elladan should know such bliss in his arms.

Afterwards, he leaned back against the tub wall, still panting shallowly. When Elladan sat upon the ledge by him and pulled him into a gentle embrace, he turned his head to gaze at the latter wonderingly. This was the Elladan he had known in Ithilien. The Elf-lord he had unwittingly come to love. Why had he been so reticent earlier?

Elladan saw the question in his eyes and smiled with scapegrace rue. “It was unconscionable of me to treat you so churlishly,” he said. “Please forgive me.”

Imrahil sighed. It was no answer at all to his confusion but he sensed Elladan’s reluctance to address the issue at the moment. He let it go. He would find out later. After all, it looked as if he was not about to leave Rivendell any time soon after all.

“Forgive what?” he smiled. “I dare say you were taken by surprise and reacted accordingly.”

“Aye, that I was,” Elladan murmured, nibbling at the rim of Imrahil’s ear, causing shivers to rippled through the man’s body that had nothing to do with the crisp weather or the cooling water. “But it was a most pleasant surprise. I was delighted to see you.”

“Were you?” Imrahil said unsteadily. “I find it hard to believe that,” he admitted, not quite able to forget the Elf’s cool reception.

“Then I must prove it to you, mustn’t I?” Elladan smiled and, rising, pulled Imrahil to his feet and out of the tub.

He took his time drying the prince’s body, turning even that most mundane of tasks into moan-inducing foreplay. By the time, he was tumbled into his bed beneath the Elvenlord, Imrahil was fairly simmering with reawakened need.

More than an hour later, ensconced in Elladan’s arms after several bouts of lively bed-play, Imrahil weakly implored, “Enough! You will kill me if you continue thusly!”

“And do you believe me now?” Elladan asked with a wicked swipe of his tongue against the man’s lips.

“Aye, I believe you,” Imrahil laughingly said. “But it will hardly do us any good if I expire from the proving of your delight!”

***********************  
Glossary:  
ethuil – Sindarin for spring  
Imrahil nîn - my Imrahil

_To be continued…_


	10. Reckoning

Three weeks later, Imrahil had so endeared himself to virtually every member of the household that all rued the day when he would need to return south. Celeborn became so fond of him that he began to treat him as if he were yet another grandson, a thing that abashed Imrahil even as it honored him and filled him with pleasure.

The prince, while young in years by elven standards, was old for any mortal though he still did not evince it. Thus, he carried himself not with a swagger but with the grace and elegance of one long in years and experience. He was of an inquisitive bent and enjoyed discussing anything and everything under Middle-earth’s sun if there was something to be learned from it. And he was comely. So comely he could easily be mistaken for one of the Firstborn. Especially when he donned the elvish tunics the brethren pressed him to wear.

He hobnobbed with the warriors and was happy to be their student in anything he was not familiar with. He pored over maps and old manuscripts with the last of the scholars and spent many a late night raptly absorbed in their expositions on elven lore. He visited the Elf-wrights as they crafted things of beauty and fervently expressed his admiration of their skill and work. And he reduced the kitchen staff to stitches when he demanded they teach him how to concoct some of the wondrous delicacies they served.

Had it not been apparent that he was lover to the older twin, many would have wooed him; even the few remaining Elf-women in the haven. Elladan knew and found himself for the first time in the position of one who needed to keep a close eye on what he considered his.

He now regarded his mortal lover as the man walked with him back to the house. Imrahil was quiet this early morn. Unusually so and it perturbed Elladan though he would never admit it.

They had gone for a stroll in the woods beyond the garden. Since their camping holiday years ago, Imrahil had developed an intense liking for the distinct green scent found only where trees grew abundantly, something lacking in a coastal realm.

They came to the garden and decided to linger outdoors for a while longer. Elladan perched himself on the stone balustrade of the garden porch. He patted the space beside him invitingly. But the man shook his head.

“If you do not mind, I would rather remain standing,” he murmured.

Elladan stared at him, suddenly remembering how Imrahil had not sat down to breakfast either but simply consumed an apple while staring out of the dining hall’s wide window. He reached out to draw him closer in concern. “Are you in pain?” he asked, eyes darkening with regret.

Imrahil shrugged. “There is some discomfort,” he admitted. “It will pass.”

Elladan bit his lip guiltily. “Did you use the salve I gave you?” he queried. Imrahil only nodded. Elladan sighed and said, “I am so sorry about last night, Imrahil. You did not deserve it.”

Imrahil touched his fingers to the Elf’s lips to silence him. “Let us not speak of it,” he said. “‘Tis something I would rather forget.”

Elladan drew a rueful breath but said no more. He looked up as Elrohir and Legolas approached, coming around the side of the house at a brisk pace. Both were muddied and bloodied and very much unlike their usual impeccably neat selves. And both were grinning broadly.

“Imrahil!” Elrohir called out. “Alfirin foaled last night. A fine colt!”

Imrahil’s eyes brightened at the news. Elrohir had offered him his mare’s first foal when the prince had shown much concern for the heavily pregnant animal. “That is wonderful to hear,” he said eagerly. “He must be as beautiful as his mother.”

“More like his sire,” Legolas chuckled. “He’s as black as midnight. Would you care to see him?”

“Oh aye,” Imrahil grinned. He glanced at Elladan. “I will not take long.”

Elladan smiled. “Take your time admiring your gift. ‘Tis not every day my brother makes such an offering.”

He watched the three hurry away to the stables, his eyes riveted on his lover’s tall frame. Imrahil never ceased to amaze him with his seemingly bottomless capacity to appreciate whatever delights life brought him. He had not lost his sense of wonder; had not allowed himself to become jaded with the passage of the years. And he refused to harbor grudges; he was one of the few men who could make friends of his former enemies because he did not hold the past against them but chose to judge them by what they did in the present. Elladan’s thoughts turned somber at this point.

It was because of this latter trait that the man was still with him. Elbereth knew that any other person would have steered clear of him after the events of the night before. But Imrahil had forgiven him in spite of the manner in which he had been so flagrantly mistreated.

Lying together in the man’s bed after a pleasant hour of coupling, they had teased each other wickedly as was their wont. He could not even recall what it was that Imrahil had said that had goaded him into drawing the man into a bit of wrestling. But in the course of their play, Imrahil had proven an able opponent and, using a tactic Elladan himself had taught him, had actually managed to come up the victor.

Elladan found himself pinned face down with Imrahil astride his hips. The prince was naturally elated by his unexpected victory and bent low over the Elf with a happy grin.

“It seems all my pains in the drill yard have paid off,” he chuckled. “What say you now, Elf?”

Elladan laughed. “I say get off me!” he exclaimed. “Or do you want me to suffocate?”

“First declare yourself beaten,” Imrahil demanded. “Then I will consider releasing you.”

About to retort, Elladan felt the prince shift above him. And press hard against his backside. In that instant, he stopped thinking rationally and only responded instinctively. He grabbed Imrahil’s restraining arm and, wielding his full elven strength, had thrown off the startled man, forcing him in turn on his belly.

It should have ended there. Had he been thinking clearly it would have ended there and no harm would have been done. Instead, he quickly straddled the prince. He barely noted the alarmed glance Imrahil cast over his shoulder at him. Did not quite register the man’s protest.

“Elladan, what are you—?”

Imrahil cried out hoarsely as he was taken without any warning whatsoever. For the first time, Elladan did not take heed of his comfort or pleasure but rode him hard and fast. Gritting his teeth at such ungentle usage, Imrahil buried his face in the pillow, his hands gripping the sheets tightly.

Only after he was done did Elladan come back to his senses. And realize that his lover had not turned over but remained prone. Staring down at the prince, he noticed the stiff cant of his shoulders, the whitened knuckles of his clutching hands.

“Oh Valar!” he whispered. He touched one tense shoulder and winced when the prince actually flinched. “Imrahil! I am sorry!” he exclaimed remorsefully.

The man turned his head to look at him. The bewilderment and hurt in his countenance smote Elladan brutally. “Why?” Imrahil quietly asked.

Elladan reached over and stroked the rich chestnut locks. “I thought you were going to—” He stopped, shamed.

Imrahil gazed at him with even more pain in his eyes. “Why did you think I would do that?” he queried. “‘Tis something you have not ... taught me.”

Elladan swallowed hard, the unspoken words hanging heavily between them. _‘Tis something you have not allowed me._

“I do not know why,” he humbly admitted. “But it was uncalled for and I am truly sorry for hurting you.” He ran hesitant fingers over the man’s chiseled jaw. “Can you find it in your heart to forgive me?”

Imrahil regarded him warily for a spell. Elladan felt a cold chill snake up his spine at that long searching gaze. At length, the prince turned partly on his side to face him. The aquamarine eyes were sad and resigned. That pained Elladan even more.

“Aye, that I can,” Imrahil said very softly. “And more besides.”

Elladan caught his breath at the tacit admission. Imrahil continued to stare at him. When he said nothing, the man sighed and silently rolled over to face the other way. His mute disappointment was deafening in its intensity and it spurred Elladan into action. He gathered Imrahil in his arms and pulled him back into the curve of his body.

Pressing a kiss to the prince’s shoulder, he said, “Thank you.”

Imrahil simply nodded his acknowledgement. Elladan was acutely aware of the inadequacy of his response.

“Elladan?”

The twin came back to the present with a start and turned his head in time to see Celeborn emerge from the house. The silver-haired Elf-lord was studying him curiously.

“Where did Imrahil go?” he asked.

“To see Alfirin’s new colt,” Elladan replied, wondering at his grandsire’s expression. “Elrohir has made a gift of it to him.”

Celeborn smiled slightly. “Your brother and Legolas dote on him,” he commented.

“As do you,” Elladan reminded him with the beginnings of a grin.

“I like him,” Celeborn said frankly. “He is a fine man. A most noble man. Please treat him well, Elladan.”

His incipient smile fading, Elladan flushed at the implicit reproof. “I do treat him well,” he retorted a little indignantly, rising to fully face his grandsire.

“I hope so,” Celeborn said, unperturbed by the twin’s slight ire. “Though in light of what I have just learned...” He shook his head. “I must speak to you on this matter, _gwaniuar_.”—older twin.

“What matter?”

Celeborn’s folded his arms across his chest. “I overheard your conversation with Imrahil,” he stated. “And your allusion to some hurt you caused him.”

Elladan stared at him then pursed his lips. “I was ... rough last night,” he confessed.

Celeborn’s frown deepened. “Why were you?” he questioned. “I cannot conceive of any reason why you would demean him in that manner.”

Elladan shook his head. “There was no rational reason,” he said. “I behaved foolishly, that is all.”

His grandfather’s mouth tightened. “And cruelly I dare say.”

Elladan stared at him startled. “What do you mean?” he demanded.

“You have not been forthright with him about yourself. About the past.”

“The past is past. I do not care to unearth it.”

“And how long do you think will it take before he discovers your taste for the members of his line?” Celeborn said pointedly. “He is not the first of his family you have bedded, grandson. But he is the first to actually set foot in Imladris. Sooner or late he will hear the tales of your incursions on those who came before him. What will he feel when he learns how you seduced and trifled with a goodly number of his ancestors? As you apparently intend to do with him.”

“Grandfather—!”

“Will you deny it?” Celeborn charged softly. “You must take heed, Elladan. You will hurt him gravely if you continue on this path. He does not deserve such hurt. Anyone with eyes can see that he loves you.”

“I never intended for things to go this far,” Elladan protested. “I did not even imagine he would come here!”

“And why not when you invited him?”

Forgetting discretion in his agitation, Elladan cried out angrily: “I did not think he would take it seriously!”

About to speak, Celeborn suddenly stopped and stared at something behind his grandson. Elladan felt his blood run cold. His heart thudding madly, he turned around.

“Sweet Eru,” he whispered in dismay.

Imrahil stood a few paces away from them. His eyes were wounded beyond relief; his face hard and blanched with shock and the pain of betrayal. And then he hurried past both Elves and disappeared into the house.

Elladan made to follow him but Celeborn stayed him with a firm grip on his arm. Unreasonably furious, the twin barked at his grandfather: “Unhand me!”

“What will you say to him, Elladan?” Celeborn said warningly. “What can you possibly say that will soothe a broken heart?”

Elladan stared at the older Elf, his mouth suddenly dry.

* * * *

Imrahil savagely threw his pack onto his bed and began to stuff it with clothing. Fool! he berated himself. What had he thought would come of this liaison? Love? A relationship? Hah! As much chance of that happening as an orc turning over a new leaf.

His hands began to shake so hard he was compelled to stop and still them. Misery washed over him as his musings stubbornly returned to what he had heard. To the evidence of his pathetic folly.

'I should never have let him so much as touch me,' he thought unhappily. 'But I let myself be swayed by his beauty and charming manner. Trusted that he thought well enough of me to at least care in some small way for my well being.'

That hurt most of all. He had accepted that Elladan did not love him. But to discover that he had been no more than a game to the Elf! A mere challenge. And not even much of one considering how swiftly he had fallen under Elladan’s spell.

'Small wonder he was so disturbed when I showed up unbidden,' he sighed inwardly. 'I must have looked like a lovelorn youngster chasing after him all the way here.' He cringed at the thought then castigated himself anew. Elbereth, had there ever been a greater idiot than him in all of Arda’s history?

By nightfall, just about everyone in the house would know. The Elves had a way of knowing what was happening even without it being spoken out loud. Well, he would not endure their pity. The humiliation would scar him for the rest of his life if it did not kill him first. Though his hands still trembled he continued with his packing. He could not get away from the valley fast enough.

“What are you doing?”

Imrahil stiffened at the sound of that beloved voice. He refused to turn around. “I am doing my best to rid you of my presence soonest,” he said sarcastically. “My most inconvenient presence.”

“Imrahil, let me explain—” Elladan said.

“To what end?” the prince demanded harshly. “That I may know in full that my family was little more than a source of bed-treats for you?”

“That is not—”

Imrahil cut him off angrily, his hand slicing through the air in a gesture of impatience. “I will no longer burden you, my lord Elf. If you will but provide me with a guide I will be on my way.”

“Imrahil, I do not want you to go!” Elladan protested.

“Enough lies!” Imrahil growled. “I was stupid enough to listen to your blandishments before. But no more. I have learned my lesson very well, thank you.”

“You do not understand,” Elladan desperately said. “I did not—”

“What did I not understand?” Imrahil hissed, facing him at last. “That I was the latest plaything spawned by Dol Amroth for your amusement?” Pained at the mere sight of the Elf-lord, he abruptly turned around and shoved his shirts into the pack. “I finally understand why you panicked when you thought I was going to take you. You could not bear the thought of yielding to one as low in your regard as I!”

“Imrahil, no—”

Elladan laid a hand on his arm in an attempt to stop him. He threw it off angrily.

“Get out! Leave me be!” he snapped without bothering to look. “I want nothing more to do with you.”

As he jerkily completed his chore, he noted the silence. Cautiously, he looked over his shoulder. Elladan was gone. 

Imrahil swallowed hard. His eyes stung and his throat ached from the monumental effort it had taken not to break down in front of the Elvenlord. He had been determined to know his dignity intact at least. But now, alone, he could no longer hold in his anguish. 

Tears slid down his cheeks. But he did not make a sound. His shoulders shook but not a whimper or a sob escaped his lips. He was the proud Prince of Dol Amroth and he comported himself as such. Even when he felt all but shattered to the very core of his being.

_To be continued…_


	11. Illumination

The scratch of a quill was all that broke the quiet of the study as Elrohir strove to focus on the letter he had to dispatch before the day was done. It was not a simple thing to do when his mind tended to wander to the incident that had eclipsed the celebratory mood over the birthing of Alfirin’s frisky colt.

Neither Elladan nor Imrahil had shown up for the midday meal. That was not surprising though his and Legolas’ appetites had all but vanished after hearing of the morning’s explosive events.

Hardly had they returned to the house after bedding down the newborn colt in sweet hay when Celeborn approached them and worriedly related what had occurred out on the garden porch. Just as his grandsire had finished narrating his tale, Elladan had come stalking down the stairs, his face white as parchment, to inform them tersely of two matters: That Imrahil was leaving Rivendell and that he was heading for the cascades. And then Elladan had disappeared out the door at a brisk run.

Lunch had been a fraught affair during which he’d done his utmost to convince Legolas to go out for an afternoon ride. He knew his mate’s temper all too well. If the archer were to see the effects of Elladan’s transgression on the man who was both ally and friend to him, there was no predicting what he might do. Common sense dictated that it would be prudent to keep Legolas as far away from Elladan as possible until this problem was sorted out.

The Elf-knight sighed as he finished the letter. Strange that it was his grandparents who’d had a hand in baring the truths of both his and Elladan’s love affairs. Though under vastly different circumstances and with wildly different results. Galadriel it was who had ensured he and Legolas would complete the bond that had been wrought between them on the day of the archer’s turbulence-marked birth. Now it was Celeborn who’d revealed Elladan’s secret to Imrahil however inadvertently. Elrohir could only hope that his twin would know resolution as he had. Though Elbereth knew there was no easy answer in this instance. Not when the hearts involved were neither both elven nor human.

Elrohir looked up from re-reading his letter at the soft rap on the door. Bidding his visitor to enter, he rose from behind the writing desk and swiftly came around it as Imrahil entered. The prince was already dressed for travel.

Elrohir pursed his lips and a slight frown touched his smooth brow. The man’s face was a closed book; no hint of his previous distress marked his placid expression. Only his eyes betrayed what he must have suffered through. They were the eyes of a mourner: dull and red-rimmed.

Imrahil did not waste time on pleasantries. “I could not go without bidding you goodbye and thanking you for your hospitality,” he said a little stiffly. “Please tell Legolas I will see him in Gondor.”

Elrohir quickly reached the man before he could depart. “May I explain something before you go?” he said softly.

Imrahil turned suddenly wary eyes on him. It pained Elrohir to see the distrust in the cobalt pools that had been so open and accepting in all the time he’d known him.

“I realize you want to defend your brother,” the prince murmured. “But what is there to say? He used me for his own purposes and fool that I was I did not see the truth until now.”

Elrohir smoothly moved around him to plant himself before the door without looking as if he were blocking the way. “I do not condone any behavior that demeans you in any way,” he said. “I reproached him for his cool reception of you when you arrived. And I had hard words with him when he admitted to me early this morn what passed between you last night. Furthermore it grieves me that you have been hurt so deeply by his actions.”

“Hurt is a ludicrous understatement,” Imrahil said bitterly. “I should not have come here.”

Elrohir shook his head. “You were meant to come here if only to make Elladan face the truth of his feelings for you,” he said.

Imrahil stared at the younger twin. “What feelings?” he scoffed. “I am no more than a-a plaything to him.”

“You were,” Elrohir calmly agreed. “Until you met anew in Ithilien. Things changed then.”

Imrahil laughed acidly. “How so? Your own grandsire was very clear about his intentions for me. Seduced and trifled with indeed! 'Tis no wonder I was taught to avoid exploring that part of our heritage.” He looked challengingly at Elrohir. “It was because of Elladan, wasn’t it? One of my forefathers realized at last what we were to him and so strove to spare his descendants more grief and shame.”

Elrohir sighed resignedly. “You do not know the full story. But I will not deny Elladan’s folly in that. I tried to dissuade him from indulging himself too fulsomely and was relieved when we ceased to visit Dol Amroth. Though you must understand, he did not trifle with anyone out of deliberate cruelty. It simply was not wise for him to become deeply involved with any heir of your line. Dynastic duties took precedence and he did not wish to risk the chance of your line ending because one or another of his lovers refused to wed and breed heirs.” 

He pressed on upon noting Imrahil’s reluctant acceptance of his reasoning. “He wooed only those in whom your elven-blood flowed strongest. And even then he did not touch any who was already wed save if one was freed by widowhood.”

Imrahil snorted. “Which explains why he preyed on me,” he said. “And I was stupid enough to ignore what I had been taught. Well, I have certainly paid for it. Please, Elrohir, what more is there to say that will not only make me feel more witless than I do already?”

Elrohir did not move out of the way. “Elladan changed, Imrahil,” he reiterated. “Though no one has seen it but I, your affair did and has altered him and so considerably it will have far-reaching consequences not only for you but for him as well. Your fates are now entwined and I fear there will be no happy ending for him though mayhap you will know a measure of joy ere you part in this life.”

At the man’s disbelieving gaze, Elrohir opened the door and gestured to Imrahil to accompany him. “Come, there is something I must show you.”

Imrahil curiously followed Elrohir back to the residential wing of the house. He frowned when he saw the twin stop before a familiar door. He knew whose room it guarded but he had never stepped within that room. Not once. Another wave of bitterness assailed him.

Elrohir went in but Imrahil stopped at the threshold. Elladan had never invited him to enter his bedchamber. He felt uncomfortable about intruding where he was not welcome. But once more Elrohir bid him to follow and so he did.

He kept his eyes on the younger twin, refusing to do more than take fleeting note of his surroundings. The surprising simplicity that did not diminish the room’s elegance. The wide windows that looked to the distant hills and river rather than the nearby gardens. The provocative scent that lingered and was distinctively Elladan’s. He firmly pushed the memories that scent evoked from his mind.

Elrohir had opened a narrow door by the bed. It led into what looked like a small adjacent chamber. Imrahil narrowed his eyes as he followed the Elf-knight inside. It was a chamber. An artist’s studio to be exact.

Windows comprised one entire wall allowing sunlight to flood the room. An easel bearing a covered painting stood to one corner with a stack of canvas leaning against the wall behind it. On a small desk were a glass container filled with several paintbrushes, an array of varicolored oil paints, sheaves of artist’s parchment, a well-used sketchbook, tapered charcoal pieces, and a small pile of stained rags in an old basket. While Imrahil looked about him bemusedly, Elrohir strode to the easel and pulled off the cover. He stood aside to let Imrahil see the painting he had uncovered.

Imrahil stared in shock as he came face to face with himself.

He stood in proud splendor in naught but his rugged breeches and boots, his chestnut hair caught by a mild breeze so that it lifted slightly to reveal the subtle tips of his elvish ears. Meticulous care had been paid to every detail of his form. The sleek muscles of his shoulders and arms. The golden sheen of his sun-blessed skin. The rippled planes of his abdomen. He colored slightly. Even the rosy tone of his nipples had been captured and rendered accordingly. He forced himself to regard his visage.

He was portrayed as looking at the one who painted him. His cobalt eyes gazed invitingly, his mouth curved into a tender yet mischievous smile. It was the look of one who beckoned and promised much to the one who heeded his summons. A subtle come-hither look.

Imrahil flushed anew and turned his attention to the background. It showed the castle of Dol Amroth in startlingly accurate detail and beyond that the rocky eastern shore and the vast expanse of sea. The prince realized it had been painted from memory. Memory that went back to the beginnings of his family’s ascendancy in Belfalas. He looked at Elrohir in wonderment.

“My brother is not only a formidable soldier,” Elrohir softly explained. “He painted this the winter after we returned from Ithilien. It hung in his room, on the wall before his bed, for more than five years. Until you arrived.”

Imrahil glanced back at the portrait. “Why did he paint it?” he asked hoarsely.

“For months after we returned, he was restless. Haunted by the memories of your time together. As he has never been with others he has taken as lovers in all his long years. By winter, you had become an obsession and he sought to vanquish it by painting you as he remembered you. He hoped that by doing so his mind would be freed of your ever-present image.”

The Elf placed a hand against the side of the portrait. “No one else knows of this portrait. Not Legolas or my grandsire or even the servants for he forbade them to enter his room without his knowledge and concealed it when any but I came here. Only I know that his obsession did not fade and that when he awakened in the morning your image was the first thing he saw and the last before he closed his eyes at night.”

Imrahil shook his head in confusion. “I do not understand,” he said. “Why then was he so perturbed by my arrival if he has viewed this for so many years?”

“This portrait satisfied his longing to look upon you,” Elrohir quietly replied. “But it was merely an image. He could keep other feelings at bay. Feelings that could not be denied once you showed up and he knew you once more in the flesh.” He caught Imrahil’s gaze and held it. “You are indeed but the latest member of your family to catch his eye and grace his bed. But you are also the only one who has at last touched his elusive heart as well.”

Imrahil struggled to calm his tumultuous nerves. “He never said anything to give me reason to believe he cared for me,” he said.

“He did not want you to know. He did not even want to admit it to himself. He was trying to fight it. To rid himself of it.”

“But why?”

“For the same reason you did not expect him to return your love.” He nodded when Imrahil gaped at him in shock. “His choice is irrevocable. He is sworn to immortality and Valinor. No matter what he does, he will suffer grief if he accepts his love for you. Were he to break his oath and remain with you to the end of your life, he would be barred from ever sailing to Aman.” Elrohir’s smile was as bitter as hemlock. “He would be doomed to linger in Middle-earth, the last and only immortal left, forced to watch the unfolding ages of this world, lonely and alone.”

Imrahil sucked his breath in sharply at the dreadful thought. Elrohir gave him but a moment to digest the information.

“But even should he come with me to Valinor before your passing, still will he know grief,” he said. “You will one day go to a place where he cannot follow you. Even should he fade from his sorrow, he will not pass to your place of abiding, but be parted from you evermore.” 

He finally released the prince from his relentless gaze and looked out the windows to gaze at the hills beyond.

The man stared once more at the telling portrait. “You implied that there was more to the story of your sojourns in Belfalas than I guessed,” he said.

Elrohir tore his gaze from the view outside and looked at him. His eyes had darkened. With remembered sorrow, Imrahil realized.

“What do you know of Lord Zimrakhôr?” Elrohir asked.

Imrahil was startled but he shrugged and replied: “He was to be the seventeenth prince of our line. But he died ere his father and so never came to the title. And because he was childless, the coronet went to his younger brother, my foresire.”

Elrohir sighed. “He was childless because he took no wife,” he said softly. “And he did not wed for he gave his heart to one he could not take as spouse. To Elladan.”

Imrahil gasped. “I have not heard that tale,” he admitted.

“Doubtless it was suppressed for fear of scandal,” Elrohir said. “We met Zimrakhôr during one of the campaigns against Mordor. He was a handsome youth and a noble one. Mithrellas’s blood was very strong in him. So strong that he immediately discerned that we were not of your race.”

Elrohir’s eyes turned distant with sadness. “He was also drawn to Elladan and Elladan to him and they became lovers for the duration of that campaign. But unfortunately, Zimrakhôr’s feelings for Elladan went beyond mere desire and henceforth he refused to marry any of the maidens his family wanted him to wed. His sire could not risk the possibility of his coming to the title and not perpetuating your line. And so he disinherited him and made his second son crown prince instead. In his despair and shame, Zimrakhôr turned to drink and dissolute living and these vices eventually sickened and killed him.”

He regarded the subdued man. “‘Tis not common knowledge, but Elladan returned to Dol Amroth when he learned of Zimrakhôr’s straits and stayed with him until the end. Though he could not return Zimrakhôr’s love, he did care for him and watched over him until the day he died. Were he the ruthless, uncaring Elf you deem him, he would not have done so, risking as he did exposure and your family’s ire.”

Imrahil drew a calming breath. “Lord Celeborn did not seem to be aware of this,” he murmured.

“He is not aware of it,” Elrohir said. “No one is; not even our parents. His family did not wish what they considered so shameful an episode in the annals of your family history to become known and we abided by their wishes. ‘Twas they who decided to preempt any future problems by discouraging the practices handed down from your Elven foremother. Needless to say, that was the last time Elladan had anything to do with a prince of Dol Amroth. Until he met you.”

Imrahil frowned. “Then why did he approach me?” he asked.

“You had already fulfilled your responsibility to sire heirs,” Elrohir explained. “He thought it would do no harm to enlighten you about your true heritage. And you had known a long and happy marriage with your wife. He did not expect you to love again. To love him.”

Elrohir looked keenly at the prince. “Even less did he expect to feel anything deeper for you than desire and some affection. He did not want to love you, Imrahil, for all the reasons I gave you. I watched him resist his feelings these many years. But I think he lost that fight long ago.”

Imrahil swallowed hard. “Where is he?” he whispered.

“By the cascades.”

_To be continued…_


	12. Avowal

Imrahil raced all the way to the falls, his heart pounding not from exertion, but from nervousness and worry.

He slowed down when he came to the Bruinen and began to walk along its banks as he neared the cascades. The roar of the tumbling falls matched the cacophony in his head. What to say? What to expect?

He hesitated when he saw the huddled figure beneath the graceful willow closest to the cascades. Elladan sat with his knees drawn up and his arms wrapped tightly around them. His chin rested on his knees and he stared unseeingly at the rushing curtain of water. He looked like an Elfling who’d been forsaken by his parents. Lost and dazed and defeated.

Imrahil silently approached him. Still Elladan did not notice him; not even when he knelt by the warrior’s side. He gently clasped the other’s shoulder, compelling him to turn his head and look at him.

Elladan started upon seeing Imrahil. He half turned and reached out his hand. And then he saw that the man was clad for journeying. He paled then lowered his eyes sorrowfully.

“You came to say goodbye,” he whispered.

Imrahil looked wonderingly at the Elf-lord. Never had he seen Elladan so vulnerable. He leaned forward and brushed his mouth against the Elf’s. Elladan stared at him, startled.

“Only if you do not want me,” Imrahil said softly. For a moment, Elladan could only look at him in shock. “What Elrohir told me—I pray 'tis true.”

In the next instant, Imrahil was caught in an embrace so snug he found himself quite robbed of proper breath. He closed his eyes when Elladan buried his face in the crook of his neck and folded his own arms around the Elf.

“Forgive me,” Elladan repeated over and over again, his voice muffled against the man’s skin. “Please forgive me.”

Imrahil tightened his hold on the trembling Elf. “Always,” he murmured. “And I would love you if you would have me,” he added somewhat uncertainly.

Elladan raised his head to gaze at him through oddly brightened eyes. A hand snaked up behind the prince’s neck and he was pulled into a kiss so fervent he wondered if he would ever know serenity of body again. If any doubts lingered as to what the Elvenlord truly felt for him, they were swiftly wiped away by the flood of thoughts that seared through his mind.

_I love you. While I have life and breath I will always love you. My prince, my heart, my treasure._

Taken unawares by such an outpouring of heartfelt thought, thoroughly overcome, Imrahil felt tears trickle down his face for the second time that day. But he did not fight to dam them. He did not attempt to comport himself as a prince or warrior. In this very moment, he was neither and frankly he did not care. Something of far more import occupied him.

He was not only Elladan’s lover; he was his love.

When Elladan released him, he realized the Elf had shed tears, too. He raised his hand to stroke the streaked cheeks with his fingers. Elladan turned his face into his hand, held it fast with his own and pressed warm lips against the prince’s palm. Imrahil shivered with delight at the affectionate caress. Impulsively, he drew Elladan into his embrace.

For the longest while, they remained thus, secure in each other’s arms, Elladan for the first time leaning against Imrahil for strength and succor. Only the sound of the falls and the river and an occasional bird trill broke the silence.

The man looked down at the Elf with searching eyes. His head lying against Imrahil’s shoulder, Elladan had closed his eyes and he looked like the innocent he had not been for countless years. Imrahil realized all over again how beautiful the Elven warrior was, not only of countenance and form but also of heart and spirit. Whatever wrong Elladan may have done him or any other in his life, Imrahil knew instinctively that it was not out of any malice or native evil. Fear, pride, lust—they’d all played a part in the Elf’s decisions. But never the deliberate urge to hurt or debase.

He pressed his lips to the raven hair, marveling as always at the natural fragrance that clung to the Elf; wondering as usual what the other had seen in him that he should have wanted him. And thankful that he did and had come for him. Elladan had lifted him out of the abyss of his grief when Aerin died and taught him however unwittingly that there was always room for another love in his heart.

“Elladan?” he said at length, curiosity getting the better of him. “Why did you favor my line?”

Elladan drew slightly out of his embrace to look at him. “I told you once that I preferred lovers possessed of more earthy qualities. But 'tis a thing rare amongst Elves. And a more common trait in your race.” He smiled slightly when Imrahil’s eyes widened in sudden cognizance of this fact. “‘Twas not a problem with women, but men were another matter completely. Only men of elven heritage could possibly understand such a desire or even feel it. Unfortunately, there are only two families in Middle-earth that bear the blood.”

Imrahil understood. “Elessar’s and mine,” he remarked. He looked quizzically at the Elf. “Did you—? That is, amongst the king’s forefathers.”

Elladan nodded. “A few until they came under my father’s guardianship. I did not touch them then for they became as brothers to me. As for your family: I met Galador many years after he founded Dol Amroth. He was grieving, having outlived his wife and all his children but one. His eldest proved as long-lived as he and so survived all his siblings.”

“You comforted him as you comforted me.”

“Aye.”

“Did you love him?”

“Nay. Nor did he love me. We came together simply for the pleasure of it.”

Imrahil looked at the rushing waters before them for a spell. “Celeborn’s words were not untrue, were they?” he said quietly. “You did not want more from me than a brief affair.”

Elladan sighed. “I will not deny that,” he said. “I loved none of the mortals I took as lovers, man or woman. I distanced myself as soon as I felt the first stirrings of anything deeper than affection. I did not wish to risk loving anyone who would eventually leave me forever.” He looked at Imrahil regretfully. “Including you.”

Imrahil’s eyes clouded. “Then I did you a disservice by coming here.”

Elladan pulled him back into his arms. “Nay, I lost my heart to you long ere I claimed you,” he murmured, scattering kisses on the man’s face until Imrahil closed his eyes in shivering bliss. He drew back slightly to stroke the prince’s jaw. “Else do you think I would have sought you out after ten years?”

Imrahil stared at him in surprise. “Then all that time in Ithilien—” He broke off and shook his head ruefully. “You certainly hid your feelings well.”

“And I am sorry I did,” Elladan murmured. “But I did not want to admit that I loved you even to myself. I fought it.”

“So Elrohir told me,” Imrahil said. “I understand now why you acted as you did when I arrived.”

Elladan chuckled pensively. “Elrohir was very displeased with me and Legolas even more so,” he admitted. “My brother knew why I shied from you, but his regard for you is such that he reproached me soon after you settled in your room.”

“Then if he had not, you would not have come to me that night?” Imrahil asked, his voice tinged with hurt.

Elladan bit his lip then shook his head. “I was afraid of what being with you would do to me,” he said honestly. “Then Elrohir told me of your disappointment...” The twin sighed. “I was too overwrought to notice your reaction to my lack of warmth, but when I learned of it I could not stay away.” He looked at Imrahil pleadingly. “I never intended to hurt you, Imrahil. I hope you believe me.”

Imrahil gazed into the guilt-darkened eyes of his lover. “I do believe you,” he softly said. And then he quietly added, “I love you, Elladan. I cannot offer you eternity but what time I have is yours.”

Elladan lifted shining eyes to meet his. “‘Tis so much more than I deserve,” he said with a smile. “I will cherish you always, Imrahil _nîn_.”—my Imrahil.

Imrahil caught his breath at the sight. The softness of the Elf’s smile and the light in his eyes suffused his features with a luminosity that was breathtaking to behold. And too enticing to withstand. Imrahil looked away in an effort to stem the sudden desire that overcame him. But he was defeated when Elladan cupped his chin and made him face him once again. The Elf looked at him questioningly, a trace of concern in his wondrous pewter eyes.

Imrahil lost all sense of restraint and leaning forward caught the other in a hungry kiss. It occurred to him that he had never done this before. Always, even when near bursting with need, he had waited on Elladan’s initiative. But then he had not been certain of where he stood with the Elf.

Elladan was undoubtedly startled by his peremptory overture, but the warrior did not resist and opened himself instead to the prince’s invasion. That stoked Imrahil’s passion further. He’d always been aware that the Elf tasted sweet, but the opportunity to know the extent of that sweetness had been denied him until now. To be in the position of pillager and of such bountiful beauty and allure was intoxicating to say the least.

By the time their mouths parted both were breathing heavily and aching for far more intimacy than a kiss. Seeing the lust in the Elf’s eyes, Imrahil reached for the ties on his shirt and began to undo them. The grey pools widened slightly at his boldness, but Elladan did not move to stop him. Though somewhat amazed at his own audacity, Imrahil refused to retreat and set to work on Elladan’s breech-laces next.

The Elf grinned rakishly. “You seem unconcerned that someone might come upon us,” he remarked.

Imrahil snorted. “I imagine Elrohir will have warned everyone away from here by now,” he pointed out. “Or am I wrong about your brother?”

Elladan shook his head with a chuckle. He lifted his hips as Imrahil drew his breeches down, pulling his boots off in the same motion. The prince stared at the Elf, struck mute by the sheer comeliness of his bared form.

“You look at me as if you have never seen me thus before,” Elladan said, his voice hushed as he noted the man’s rapt expression.

Imrahil’s glittered perilously. “I have not,” he finally said.

Again the Elf’s eyes widened. And then they softened as Elladan comprehended what he meant.

In all their couplings, the Elf had always led, always dominated. There was a world of difference between the love-act of a teacher and his student and two who were equals. Imrahil was looking at him with new eyes. The eyes not of a hesitant initiate, but a covetous bedmate.

A moment later he was pinned against the tree as Imrahil captured him anew in a slew of ravaging kisses while his hands brazenly mapped his body. That the man remained fully clad added a piquancy that only served to fuel his excitement further.

The plundering lips wandered downwards to his now peaked nipples, drawing on them with mingled craving and curiosity. He caught his breath when the prince gently but inexorably forced him to lie back on the grass-carpeted ground. Their eyes met for one instant before Imrahil lowered his head to continue his descending exploration. The first time for either of them.

Imrahil proved as inquisitive as the proverbial cat, every tentative stroke and lick and answering groan and gasp a point of learning for him as he sought to know his lover’s body at last. And the active pleasuring of it.

Which was something altogether new for the mortal prince. To give pleasure by willingly allowing liberties with one’s self was very different from taking those same liberties with someone else. He had never worshipped another man’s body in carnal play before, even less an Elf’s. But then again, an Elf’s body was in no way to be compared to a man’s, he thought as he continued with his exploration.

No man possessed skin as sleek and pale or flesh as sweet and supple as this. Or a form as lean yet patently masculine. Or a scent that defied description save that it was maddening enough to turn even the most prudent of men insane with lust. He eyed the Elf’s proud member. Or a shaft that one wanted to claim as one’s own even when one had never dreamed of doing so before.

Elladan’s hoarse cry was all the encouragement he needed though the taste of him certainly provided added impetus. Imrahil vaguely wondered what his sons would think if they ever learned of his newfound predilection. Not that he really cared. Not when he had just discovered what a pleasure it was to suckle the flesh of so exquisite a being while said being writhed in heavenly splendor beneath him. He felt the telltale pulsing that portended the Elf’s completion.

“Imrahil!” Elladan cried out warningly.

He did not pull away but determinedly caught the Elf’s seed in his mouth. Every gorgeous drop of it. Even this taste of Elladan was precious to him and he wanted to know it well. He did not regret it.

When Elladan finally quieted, Imrahil raised his head, swallowing the creamy essence as he did. He looked at Elladan in elation. The Elf stared back at him, panting shallowly in the wake of such edacious milking. A slight gesture and Imrahil obligingly came up beside him. Elladan reached up and wiped a glistening drop from the man’s lower lip with his finger. Imrahil caught the finger between his lips and sucked it clean. Elladan’s eyes gazed at him in wonderment.

“You are not repulsed,” he softly commented.

Imrahil shook his head. “You taste sweet,” he bluntly replied.

Elladan drew in a sharp breath. “You are truly a marvel, Imrahil,” he murmured. He curled an arm around the man and, with one fluid twist of their bodies, had him on his back in turn. “Now for your pleasure,” he whispered.

Even several layers of traveling raiment did not stand a chance against the agile elven fingers. In far less time than it had taken for him to don them, Imrahil found himself bereft of his clothing. Elladan leaned down and kissed him until he was aching with terrible need. He groaned against the Elf’s mouth as he felt the latter’s hand fold around his turgid shaft and caress it to its hardest.

Elladan drew away and, straddling him, did as he had done those many years ago in Ithilien, stroking their slick lengths together until they were both gasping helplessly. And then the Elf stopped and deliberately wiping the copious seed from the tips of their shafts, smoothed it down Imrahil’s to completely coat it. Imrahil stared in disbelief. Surely his lover did not mean to...?

His breath hitched when Elladan levered himself into the position that would permit him to sheathe the prince. Imrahil caught at his knee and tried to stop him.

“Elladan, you need not do this,” he said urgently. “This discomforts you and—”

Elladan shook his head. “Hush, this had nothing to do with any low regard you thought I harbored toward you,” he murmured. “I have yielded to only a few in all my years even amongst my kindred.”

“But your response when you thought that I sought to take you—” Imrahil began.

“I panicked,” the Elf-lord confessed. “To yield to you would have forced me to accept the truth that I was yours. I needed to deny it even to myself. But I will deny it no longer, Imrahil.” Forestalling any further protestations from the prince, he slowly lowered himself upon Imrahil’s length.

Imrahil gasped as he was tightly gloved in heated satin. His breath came in short spurts as he struggled to keep from coming to release too soon. Not that Elladan made it easy when he started to move sensuously up and down the highly sensitized column. Sensation after breath-stealing sensation wracked his body until there was nothing but sheer rapture to anchor himself upon. Imrahil reached for the Elf’s thighs and gripped them hard enough to leave reddened marks on the pale skin.

“Elladan!” he groaned. “I cannot take much more of this!”

“Do not fight it then,” Elladan whispered raspingly. “Find your pleasure, _seron vell_.”—beloved. “Fill me as you will!”

A glimmer of lucidity still lurked in the reaches of Imrahil’s consciousness. Recalling how the Elf had oft ensured his pleasure when he’d taken him, he grasped Elladan’s length as it nosed up against his belly and began to stroke it as best as he could. Elladan moaned and gazed at him with eyes so dark they were almost like coal. His movements quickened, taking the man as deeply as he could. It precipitated Imrahil’s undoing.

With a ragged cry, the prince bucked up against his Elven lover and spilled himself for the first time within Elladan’s welcoming warmth. His eyes widened as the Elf’s muscles tightened around him, draining him of his seed and prolonging his pleasure.

He stared at Elladan and thought he had never seen the Elf so beautiful as he was in the throes of his own completion. Head thrown back, fair skin flushed, raven hair streaming down his back, spectacularly lost in utter rapture.

He hugged Elladan to himself as the Elf collapsed atop him. It seemed like ages before he made sense of his surroundings once more. Meanwhile, he waited for his heart to return to its normal pace. He idly ran his hand through the silken sheath of the Elf’s sable tresses, unable to do more for now than wordlessly press kisses to the other’s smooth temple.

At length, Elladan lifted his head and met his lips in the most tender of caresses. The grey eyes glowed with more emotion than Imrahil had ever thought possible for any sentient creature. 'An Elf’s love,' he thought with a lump in his throat.

Deeper than a bottomless ocean. Greater than the highest mountain. Eternal as time itself.

And Elladan had gifted him with his.

_To be continued…_


	13. Beloved

The faint light glimmered insistently behind his closed lids, urging him to rouse himself and meet the new day. The comfort of cool if rumpled bed linens and a soft pillow however made the lazy alternative more pleasant. But an insistent tickling sensation along the edge of one ear did not allow an easy return to reverie. Imrahil opened his eyes reluctantly, the dredges of his delicious dream still lingering in the corners of his mind. The reluctance faded swiftly with the awareness of a pair of grey eyes regarding him with utmost fondness.

“Showing your age, O Prince?” Elladan teased when the man groaned and forced himself to awaken fully.

“Any sensible mortal would stay abed until noon after what you put me through last night,” Imrahil grumbled good-naturedly.

Elladan chuckled. “I do not recall you complaining in the least while we were at it,” he pointed out.

The prince could not help blushing as full and vivid recollection of “it” came back to him. That elicited more snickers from the raven-haired Elf. Imrahil shook his and head and managed a rueful smile.

“I did not dare complain lest you ceased what you were doing,” he frankly admitted.

Elladan dissolved into delighted laughter. “You have become as brazen as any Elf, Imrahil _nîn_ ”—my Imrahil—he chortled.

“But not as bad as a Peredhel!” Imrahil retorted. “Is there no limit to your imagination?”

“And is that a belated complaint?” Elladan countered with a grin.

Imrahil glared at him a moment then grinned back and lifted his head to steal a kiss from the Elf. He should have known stealing would lead to certain consequences as he was pressed down once more into the bed’s confines. Or maybe he did. He was no longer hesitant with his Elven lover. Not when that lover had since claimed him as mate as well.

Resting a while in Elladan’s arms after their morning’s play, he considered this latest sweeping change in his life, the most momentous of a slew since he met the Elven twin. A glance at the gold ring on the index finger of his right hand and the silvery scar in the palm of his left never failed to remind and assure him of that change. He wondered what he had done that the Powers should have blessed him with another love as great as that which he had shared with his departed wife. Or even greater considering what Elladan was willing to sacrifice for the sake of this bond between them.

They had returned from the river to an anxious reception from the others. Legolas had cut his ride short and joined Elrohir in the study, a scowl marring his fair face. Celeborn soon added his own worried presence, his concern for both distraught guest and errant grandson apparent in his grave countenance. And Elrohir, while more confident for obvious reasons, could not help the smithereens of apprehension that things could still go very wrong. Their relief upon seeing the two lovers reconciled was so palpable Imrahil could have sworn the temperature in the study had suddenly lowered by several degrees.

He did not spend another night in his bedchamber. He went back to his room to unpack his belongings and put them away. But Elladan stopped him.

“You can unpack your things in our room,” he quietly said.

“Our room?” Imrahil looked at him in surprise, wondering if he had heard right.

“Aye, _seron vell_.”—beloved. “As it should have been from the moment of your arrival.”

He’d shared Elladan’s bedchamber ever since.

Weeks of bliss followed wherein he discovered what it meant to be the object of an Elf’s love. No wonder Elessar positively worships his queen, he would oft think as the days passed. If this is what he experiences with the Evenstar, then ‘tis no mystery that he should be so loath to part from her even for the most important of state matters.

And Elladan made good on his promise to show him much of the region around Imladris. They spent many a day riding with Elrohir and Legolas or camping with them in the woods outside the valley. Visited the villages and settlements, both human and dwarven, that had sprouted in great numbers along the Great East Road since the return of the Reunited Kingdom’s heir. Even got into a brawl in Bree the result of which had been a pile of drunken men outside the Inn of the Prancing Pony and four Elves (or so the Bree-landers thought) dusting their hands in disdain before returning inside for another round of ale and song. 

The excursions only ended when trouble with orcs and outlaws erupted once more. Not as difficult a matter to deal with as in the days before Sauron’s fall, but a matter the twins took seriously nonetheless and addressed swiftly and brutally when necessary.

Elladan raised the prospect of a binding three months into their renewed relationship. Imrahil could not deny it had taken him completely by surprise. Love he had wished for from the Elf. But something as committed as a binding—it was far more than he’d ever even hoped for, much less thought he deserved.

“What is it like?” he asked curiously. It was the one topic he had never troubled to learn about, as it was the one thing he’d never imagined he would need to know.

They were in the stables, seeing to the midnight-hued colt that was Elrohir’s gift to the man, when the subject was broached. Elladan considered his question before replying.

“Do you mean the ritual or the effects of it afterwards?” he asked.

“Both I suppose,” Imrahil said. “Tell me about the ritual first.”

“Well, the Powers are invoked to witness the rites and Eru himself asked to bless the union.” The Elf-lord smiled faintly at the glint of awe in Imrahil’s eyes. “Aye, ‘tis why we can bind even without the presence of others and with no more ceremony than the blood pact.”

Imrahil raised a surprise eyebrow. “Blood pact?”

Elladan nodded. “We seal our vows with our blood. Henceforth, we become as one with our mates, not only in body and heart but also in spirit.”

Imrahil gazed at him, fascinated. “Elessar and your sister did not perform that rite at their wedding,” he said.

“Not in public,” Elladan amended. “We did not think your people would understand the need for bloodletting at a wedding. They performed it in private after the feast when they retired to their chamber. My sister may no longer possess our immortality, but she is still elven in many ways.” He looked intently at Imrahil. “Please rest assured, I am not pressing you to make a decision at once.”

Imrahil paused in his currying of the colt. “Well, it is not without precedent in my family,” he said hesitantly. “Mithrellas did wed Imrazör.”

Elladan did not comment on the remark. He only said: “Take your time and think about it. I know ‘tis no simple endeavor and not something to take lightly.”

Imrahil did take his time and thought about it. The whole day and the next few, nothing else occupied his mind longer or more wholly than the proposal. He was tempted to say yes without further ado. After all, was this not what he yearned for? An abiding relationship with Elladan?

Something nagged at the prince though. Something he suspected Elladan had not told him.

Alone in his room the afternoon of the fifth day, he could not quite focus on the letters from Belfalas that he’d thought to respond to. Not when all he could think about was the proposal. And the continued suspicion that he did not know all that he ought to know. Elladan had not been more forthcoming despite his questioning and, strangely enough, his twin, law-brother and grandsire had not been cooperative either. The problem of course was that he did not truly know what questions to ask and the Elves had adroitly skirted the issue on that basis.

Imrahil laid down the missive in hand. He could not give a yea or nay without fully understanding what an elven binding would entail. He had to get some answers. Of a sudden, he rose from the writing desk and hurried out of the room. He headed for the library.

An hour later, he burst in on Elladan in the study just as the latter was concluding a discussion with a merchant from Dale. Cool as ever, Elladan bid his startled guest a good day, saw the curious man to the door, then turned to face his lover.

“You did not tell me a binding would hold you to me forever!” Imrahil blurted out. “Why?”

Elladan shrugged. “Because you would have said no at once,” he said.

Imrahil stared at him. “I cannot do that to you,” he protested. “What it would demand of you is too much to ask of anyone.”

“You have not asked it of me, Imrahil,” Elladan corrected him. “I freely accept the conditions entailed.”

“But it would fetter you for eternity, alone and without another to comfort you,” Imrahil countered fervently. “Elladan, I do not wish for you to suffer thusly. I want you to be free to seek another love when I am gone.”

“There will be no other,” Elladan pointed out. “You once said we Peredhil know the meaning of love. I should add that we only love once. If this be my fate to give my heart to one I cannot have evermore, so be it.”

“But—”

“I would have our spirits bound, _melethen_ ”—my love—the Elf gently interrupted. “That I may know your presence even when you are no longer in this world.”

Imrahil went still. “And would I know yours?” he asked in mingled wonder and curiosity.

“I cannot say for certain if that is the way of mortals but presumably, aye, you would,” Elladan replied. “No matter where your spirit abides you will know mine. If I desired for you to think this over ‘tis only because I do not know if your heart’s eternal choice lies in me. If it does, then I would bind myself to you, Imrahil, for all time.”

Imrahil frowned. Comprehension limned his countenance. “Mithrellas—she wed my foresire in the human tradition and not the elven one,” he said suddenly.

Elladan nodded. “Which is why ‘tis not spoken of as a true binding between our races. Doubtless she feared she could not withstand a future alone.”

“But you? Are you truly willing to endure such a fate?” Imrahil whispered.

“For you, ‘tis worth it,” Elladan replied serenely. “For love of you.” He cupped the prince’s face in his hands. “I would rather know myself claimed in love by you even for a brief season than belong to none for all the ages of the world. If you truly love me, Imrahil, you will do this. You will not deny me.”

Imrahil had not thought he could love the Elvenlord more but, in that moment, he knew there were no limits to what he could feel for Elladan.

“How can I not choose you?” he murmured, eyes welling with moisture. “Aye, I will bind to you.”

The kiss Elladan bestowed on him nearly proved his undoing. Which the Elf embarked on anyway once he had bolted the study door.

They bound to each other within the week with all the household and warriors of Rivendell in attendance. Imrahil had wondered before the ritual took place what Elrohir and Celeborn made of Elladan’s decision. Brother and grandsire could surely not fail to feel some misgivings that the bond about to be forged would require the ultimate sacrifice from the older twin.

But neither protested and indeed welcomed him as one of their own. It occurred to Imrahil then that the family he was set to join was not stranger to tragedy and sorrow and grievous partings. The Peredhil themselves were descendants of a union that had torn an Elf from her family and kindred for eternity. Only lately had they surrendered their beloved Evenstar to that same fate. 

They had learned to take what joy there was to be had in life and savor it while it lasted. When the time came they would rally around Elladan, succor him in his grief and provide him with the comfort of their company in the years after.

Now, three weeks later, it all seemed a blur to Imrahil. Yet certain moments shone with crystal clarity. Moments that were burned into his memory as a burning brand left a mark on skin or hide.

Of an enthralling starlit night in the gardens of the Last Homely House. And two gold rings each adorned with a single sapphire of astonishing beauty. And the feel of cold steel sharp against warm flesh.

Of the sting of wounds as they were pressed together and the sudden cessation of awareness of everything save the thrilling, sometimes frightening sensation of blood moving between slashed hands.

Of an overwhelming wave of memory and knowledge flowing into his mind even as the same was drawn from him. He had worried then that the brevity of his offering would be found wanting only to look into Elladan’s eyes and see the Elf’s delight and wonder at knowing him so intimately.

Of the feast afterwards, he had little remembrance save for Elrohir and Legolas’ wicked asides. What had followed made a more profound impression on his heart and mind.

The rustling of clothing hastily removed and the hurried tumble into bed. The swift melding of bodies. The tangle of limbs. Hoarse whispers and escalating moans.

Elladan beneath him, sable hair spilling wantonly upon the snowy pillow and sheets, skin shimmering with unearthly light, urging him on until he was sheathed in glorious silk and heat. He tried to hold back, to control his need, but with powerful legs locked around his waist, drawing him in deeper, he could not and he bucked vigorously, almost violently, into his mate.

The free flow of thought and feeling between them expanded and heightened every sensation, wringing from them every last ounce of rapture possible to either Elf or humankind. So strong, so explosive was their pleasure that their cries resounded throughout the chamber. And most likely beyond. He’d wondered blushingly afterwards, in the hazy wake of their loving, how many had heard them.

For the first time, Imrahil understood the effort it cost Elrohir and Legolas to stifle themselves whenever they coupled outside the bounds of an elven realm. Elbereth only knew how he would manage should Elladan bed him in Minas Tirith or Emyn Arnen. And especially in Dol Amroth!

He wondered if he would ever tell his children of this development or if he could. He was not sure they would understand despite their ample exposure to Elessar’s queen and her Elven kin and their own recent interest in their long ignored heritage. Mayhap it was a secret destined to remain so forever.

Joining the others in the dining hall later that morn, they found a letter from Gondor awaiting Imrahil. Elrohir handed it over as they all settled down for the morning meal. While Imrahil read the missive, Elladan took the time to look him over with an appreciative smile.

Since Imrahil’s arrival, he and Elrohir had induced the prince to don elven raiment more and more until Imrahil had ceased to wear men’s garb at all. As a result, he looked more like an Elf than ever. Particularly with his chestnut hair braided in the single plait the twins favored.

Here, in the heart of the most renowned elven realm still extant in Middle-earth, Imrahil had no need to conceal the peculiarity that pointed him up as different from other men. His longevity and perpetual youthfulness no longer drew as much speculation given that Gondor’s king also carried the same traits. But the shape of his ears was too obvious a mark of his elvish heritage and this he preferred to keep hidden from most people.

Imrahil looked up from the letter, his face grave. And patently unhappy.

“What is wrong, _meleth_?”—love—Elladan quietly queried.

Imrahil shook his head. “Nothing wrong,” he said. “Only untimely.” He glanced at the others then looked dolefully at Elladan. “The Haradrim are sending a diplomatic delegation to Gondor in response to Aragorn’s treaty proposal. A proposal I helped him draft. The King wants me present when the delegation arrives.” 

He bit his lip then let out a resigned sigh. “I must leave for Minas Tirith within the week if I am to reach Gondor in time.”

He felt Elladan’s comforting grip on his knee and Legolas’s consoling hand on his shoulder. Knew the silence around him for unspoken sympathy, so attuned had he become to the nuances of elven interaction during his stay in the vale.

The two spent virtually every moment of the week with each other. The Valar only knew when they would have the freedom to love each other openly again. Mayhap in Ithilien but when? In the meantime, letters would have to suffice. Poor substitutes for Elladan’s loving, Imrahil opined each time his Elven mate took him to heights of ecstasy he’d previously believed impossible.

The eve of his departure, Imrahil struggled to stay his tears. He did not wish to be reduced to weeping like a lovesick maid. But he could barely keep his hands from shaking as he packed the last of his things. 

Draped over the back of Elladan’s easy chair were the travelling clothes he would don on the morrow. Elladan had advised him to wear elvish raiment during his journey as an effective deterrent against brigands who would hesitate to attack a party wholly composed of Elves. He wondered if he would feel comfortable wearing men’s clothing again.

Elladan came up behind him and curled his arms around his waist. He pulled him back against his tall frame. Imrahil leaned into the embrace, closing his eyes as the Elf pressed a kiss against the side of his neck.

“I will provide you with a sizable escort tomorrow,” he softly said. “Orcs have been sighted once more issuing from the Misty Mountains. And there have been reports of renewed banditry further south. Would that I could accompany you even part of the way, but...”

“You and Elrohir have business to conduct here on Elessar’s behalf,” Imrahil acknowledged. “Duty will always find us wherever we may go.” He swallowed hard. “I do not know when ... or if I will be able to return here,” he murmured. “There is no plausible reason for me to visit Imladris frequently.”

“All the more reason for Elrohir and me to ensure continued peace in the north.” Elladan said. “As soon as ‘tis quiet here once more, I will go to you.”

Imrahil nodded morosely. His eyes lifted to the portrait above the hearth, facing the bed. It now hung openly for any to see.

“I wish I could have a likeness of you to keep by me,” he said, gazing at the painting a little enviously. “It would be of great comfort while we are apart.”

Elladan turned him in his arms. “I thought of that,” he admitted. “And so I asked Elrohir to do this for me.”

He slipped something into Imrahil’s hand. The man stared down at his palm. It was a _mithril_ locket on a silver chain. A simple but elegant piece inscribed with his insignia of Dol Amroth. He noticed the small hinge at its side. Wonderingly, he opened it.

He drew in a reverential breath. Within was a miniature portrait of Elladan from the chest up, his raven hair flowing freely down his back, his eyes teasing, his shirt undone in a most promising manner. Imrahil could not help chuckling at the suggestiveness of the image. He raised shining eyes to the Elf.

“Elrohir is an accomplished artist, too,” Elladan grinned. “Though I doubt Legolas will ever let anyone see the portrait my brother did of him. I believe ‘tis for their eyes only.”

Imrahil laughed, his spirits lightened. And then he stopped, snaked his hand around Elladan’s nape and pulled him close for an ardent kiss. Breathless moments later, Elladan pushed him down onto the bed, grey eyes gleaming lustily.

“You will need a long hot bath tomorrow morning, my Imrahil,” he whispered wickedly. “For I intend to love you senseless this night.”

_To be continued…_


	14. Visitations

Dol Amroth, _Cerveth_ F.A. 33  
No matter what view one chose to regard from the ramparts of the great castle of Dol Amroth, it was an exhilarating one. From the seaward side, one could admire the primal beauty of the long strands of beaches, some rocky and pounded by the roaring surf, others sandy and serene and lapped by gentle waves. One could also watch the busy comings and goings along the roads leading to and from bustling Edhellond and view the harbor in its entirety.

From his vantage point facing the sea, Imrahil gazed at the ships that filled the ancient harbor, their wide sails rose-tinted in the burnished light of sunrise. They were as familiar and dear to him as the corridors of his castle. Since childhood, their majestic prows, towering masts and billowing sails had drawn his eyes and, later, became a part of his life as he learned the trade of a goodly number of his people. 

He was prince of Dol Amroth but he was also a veteran seaman of Belfalas. The sight of these ocean-bound vessels never failed to stir his heart and thrill his soul.

But this morning, something else had dared to curtail his enthusiasm for them. Dared and succeeded as it had for the whole of the past week or so. After only a few minutes, he walked to the northward portion of the ramparts to look upon the roads that led to the castle itself. And as his eyes searched the incoming byways, he reached beneath his tunic and clasped the mithril locket that hung from his neck, all the while restlessly waiting and seeking. Because of the letter.

The missive arrived more than a month ago. Coming from the distant north, written in a strong, flowing hand and worded in Sindarin, it had tenderly voiced love and humor and broached news from far away. But two sentences riveted Imrahil at once and now daily drew him out onto the ramparts, sometimes up to three times in a single day.

_Look to the north before the end of summer. I will come to you then, beloved._

It would only be Elladan’s third sojourn in Dol Amroth since their espousal. The other two were ingrained in Imrahil’s memory forever though for vastly different reasons.

The first had been conducted with proper protocol and due decorum with Elladan arriving in the port city as his king-brother’s envoy during a visit by Harad’s ambassador to Gondor. Tasked with completing the lengthy negotiations that would eventually lead to true peace with the Haradrim, Imrahil had opted to meet with the various Southron diplomats in Dol Amroth rather than have them travel to the markedly less neutral grounds of Minas Tirith. Acceding to his counsellor’s caution and prudence, Aragorn sent representatives to these meetings in his stead.

To Imrahil’s delight, the king’s last envoy before the treaty was finally ratified was the older of his Elven foster brothers. Elladan had not stayed too long. Barely a week in fact for he was expected back in Minas Tirith with a full report on the proceedings for Elessar. But it had been a blissful week nonetheless for Imrahil to have his mate in residence _and_ in his bed for most of the nights of his visit.

The second visit some ten years ago proved just as memorable, but far more deleterious to the prince’s peace of mind and body. And he would not have had it any other way.

Walking back to his chamber after a full day dealing with numerous folk seeking an audience with him, the prince had wondered not for the last time what he’d done to merit the imminent headache and soured mood his duties for the day had brought on. From serious charges of sedition or criminal acts to the most petty of quarrels and petitions, all had been presented to him with the absurd expectation of having each resolved in an instant.

Imrahil was one of the mildest-tempered princes ever to rule Belfalas but by Eru there were days when even he felt like throwing everyone in the brig and throwing away the key. This was one of those days and he came to his room cursing to himself that he must be at last feeling his age to feel so weary in body and spirit. 

With a fretful sigh, he opened the door and entered his chamber. And stopped in shock just past the threshold. It was a wonder he still had the wits to close the door behind him, which he hastily did and even more swiftly bolted.

Elladan looked up from the book he’d been reading and smiled a welcome at him. So calmly did he do so that one would not have thought his presence in Imrahil’s chamber the least bit unexpected. Or that he was the slightest bit perturbed by his state of dishabille. Sitting up against the carved mahogany headboard, his raven hair flowing unimpaired down his back, long legs stretched out on the dark counterpane, he was spared complete starkness only by the large, wide book that rested on his lap.

It took Imrahil several seconds to regain his speech, a condition that was not at all helped by the sudden pooling of waxing warmth in his groin.

“When did you arrive?” he finally managed to blurt out.

“A little less than an hour ago,” the Elf-lord replied.

“Why did you not have yourself announced?” Imrahil demanded, trying to keep his gaze from settling on the book and his mind from imagining what the book kept from his gaze.

Elladan shook his head. “And have your people treated to the spectacle of their prince rushing off in the middle of any proceedings?” he murmured. “I thought it would be more prudent this way.”

“Prudent!” Imrahil choked. “You nigh gave me heart failure with your-your appearance!”

A sound very much like a purr slipped out of the Elvenlord. “Are you really going to just stand there and gawk at me?” he cooed. “I imagine there are far better uses to put your tongue to than mere talk, Imrahil _nîn_.”—my Imrahil.

With that, he nonchalantly shut his book and laid it on the bedside table, stretching like a cat as he did so. And then he leaned back against the headboard once more and waited.

Imrahil’s clothes did not quite survive his hurried efforts to shed them. The following day gave rise to much headshaking amongst the royal seamstresses and even more speculation as to how buttons, clasps and lacings could have been torn so violently from their master’s robe, tunic, shirt and breeches.

Not that said master cared one whit when all he could think of was to bed his mate soonest and most thoroughly. Parted from Elladan for nearly three years beforehand, Imrahil virtually attacked him with all the hunger of a man recently come from a lengthy famine to a bountiful feast.

Elladan found himself pinned to the bed as a ravenous mouth and rapacious hands did their utmost on his sleek frame. The twin had found his match in his mortal mate. Once Imrahil gained the confidence of knowing himself loved and owned, all the sensuality and lustiness that had once made his name a byword amongst the ladies of Belfalas, both proper and otherwise, came to the fore. Elladan had long recognized his prince’s considerable abilities and declared himself blessed for the reaping of it.

He drew ragged breaths as his throat was nipped and sucked until its paleness was marked with bruises of the carnal kind. Groaned in bliss with the deliberate attention paid to each roseate nipple, a task Imrahil particularly relished. Arched into the questing mouth and roving hands as they moved further south of his torso.

He half chuckled, half moaned as the tender flesh where thighs joined groin was lapped then lightly bitten. He was just this side of ticklish in that area but when Imrahil employed both his tongue and teeth just so, it ceased to become a laughing matter and he was soon struggling to keep from writhing overmuch. Which became academic once Imrahil got his lips around his rigid length and began to draw upon it as if starved.

“Valar! Do you want me to die from this?” Elladan gasped.

Imrahil ceased his ministrations just long enough to glance up and grinningly say: “But at least you’ll have a smile on your face when you do.”

Elladan glared at him momentarily only to groan lingeringly as the fearsome suckling resumed. Refusing to be outdone in the pleasant chore of pleasuring his mate, he reached down and insistently pulled at the man’s shoulders.

“Turn around,” he rasped. “I would taste you, too.”

For a moment, Imrahil stared at him with widened eyes. But his surprise quickly gave way to his sense of adventure and he swiftly complied. Elladan grabbed his hips and had him straddle his face. Imrahil softly yelped as he was engulfed in the Elf’s talented mouth before he set to lavishing his own attention once more on the luscious column before him.

It turned into a race then, the most sensuous Imrahil had ever known as both strove to undo the other soonest. Imrahil thought the sensations so exquisite as to be almost unbelievable. To be steadily and headily drawn upon by Elladan even as he likewise plied his lips, tongue and mouth on the Elf’s shaft was an experience for which he would have willingly faced a Balrog, he deliriously opined.

He soon learned how much more wonderful it could get as he explosively spilled himself into Elladan’s mouth even as he milked Elladan of every creamy drop of his seed. He just barely managed to roll off the Elf afterwards, chuckling at the wickedness of their joint endeavor. He chortled even more merrily when he heard his mirth echoed by his Elven spouse.

At length, he crawled his way up to lie full-length against Elladan, pulling the withy body against his. And felt the stirrings of another arousal in his groin, brought on just by the singular scent of the Elf and the feel of his smooth skin touching his. Elladan noted the hardening of his length against his hip and grinned lazily.

“In this matter at least, you are more Elf than Man, _melethron_ ”—lover—he teased.

“If I am, ‘tis only because of the Elf in my bed,” Imrahil countered. “You are more brazen than a human whore, Elladan.”

“But sweeter you must admit,” the twin drawled.

“And softer,” Imrahil murmured against one peaked ear.

“Softer?” There was the faintest hint of umbrage in the Elf’s voice. Imrahil snickered then rested his hand on Elladan’s firm bottom.

“Aye, where it counts most,” he whispered salaciously. “On your knees, my beautiful Elf. My hunger for you is not yet appeased.”

Grey eyes suddenly dark with reciprocal lust, Elladan did not protest, but fluidly rolled over and did as he was bid. Catching him by the hips, Imrahil did not give him time to steady himself before breaching him fully in one smooth thrust. The rapturous cry that wrenched from the Elf was as a Valarian rhapsody to his ears and he set himself to eliciting more like sounds from him. But he was not far behind in his own expressions of pleasure as he plunged repeatedly into Elladan. 

It was something he had never gotten used to or taken for granted—the sheer ecstasy of sheathing himself in the snug silken warmth of his mate’s body while the lean hips pushed back against him to take him in deeper with each thrust.

He caught the Elf’s body in his arms, urging him to straighten up and settle on his lap instead, making his impalement more acute. Elladan gasped and let his head fall back upon Imrahil’s shoulder. The man sucked hard on the flesh of his neck, leaving yet another blatant passion mark on it.

He reached around and curled his hand around Elladan’s length and began to stroke it. He felt Elladan’s hand alight on his, guiding him and urging him on. He wondered how it was possible for him to become even more aroused then realized how easy it was when blessed with an armful of passionate Elf.

Their bodies moved in fervent counterpoint, the Elf’s hips pushing down while the man bucked upwards, spurring yet another race towards completion. Their shared thoughts and feelings heightened the bliss and the elation. Forgetting everything but the Elf in his arms, Imrahil found release anew, his sobbing gasps mirrored by Elladan’s, his body trembling with the delicious tremors of a powerful and extended climax. He sighed in bliss when he felt warm cream coat his fingers as Elladan spent himself into his caressing hand.

They lay down in sated exhaustion, still joined, Imrahil holding Elladan snugly in the curve of his tall form. Elladan turned his head, a languid smile on his sinuous mouth. The sight enthralled Imrahil to the core and he hungrily supped of the Elf-lord’s lips. With a start, he dazedly noted the signs of yet another burgeoning arousal. Valar, he was far more elven in this than even Elladan had suggested!

Elladan laughed softly and gently disengaged himself from his stunned mortal. Turning, he pressed Imrahil down onto the bed and climbed astride him. The prince shook his head in disbelief as he felt the evidence of the Elf’s need brush against his thigh. Elladan grinned.

“Now ‘tis your turn to be ridden,” he growled. “And I intend to make it a long, hard ride!”

His cheeks suddenly hot and his breeches tight, Imrahil came back to the present and forcibly tried to think of other less stimulating matters. Sweet Eru, they were espoused but twenty years. He could not begin to imagine what an eternity of such rapture would do to him. 

'I would probably pass into Mandos’s Halls before very long,' he ruefully thought. 'Even sooner if this is what just thinking about it does to me!'

At length, he realized it was time to meet with his secretary and visitors from neighboring Lebennin over a proposed trade agreement between the two fiefs. With a disappointed sigh, he headed back inside. But he delayed his meeting for several minutes when he went to check on his first great-grandchild, Alphros’s eldest-born. There were some things that took precedence even over the most pressing of matters and spending some time with his family or theirs was of the highest priority of all.

Heading for the council chamber after, he was suddenly waylaid by one of the squires. He noted the lad’s excitement, evident in his flushed cheeks and bright eyes.

“My lord, I was sent to inform you—” the youth began before choking on his words in his exhilaration.

The prince smothered the impulse to guffaw at the squire’s gracelessness. “Now what has left you in such a pother, my boy?” he inquired. “Well, come now, out with it!”

The lad blushed more deeply but prompted by Imrahil’s pointed rejoinder he hurried to deliver his message to his royal master.

“Sire, the Lord Elladan of Rivendell has just arrived!”

************************  
Glossary:  
Cerveth – Sindarin for July

_To be continued…_


	15. Tryst

It took all of Imrahil’s self-discipline not to react to the squire’s announcement as his heart and body dictated. And so he did not dash off there and then but received the news with creditable equanimity.

“Ah, I must welcome him then,” he said to the youth. “Go to Hirluin and inform him that I will be delayed somewhat.”

He waited for the squire to hurry off before heading for the castle courtyard, repeatedly reminding himself to walk at a decorous pace. As he came to the great main doors, he noted Elphir approaching as well. As crown prince, it was also part of Elphir’s duties to join his father in welcoming distinguished guests to Dol Amroth. The king of Gondor’s Elven brother, a lord in his own right, was counted as one.

The prince had to take a deep breath when he laid his eyes on the Elf-lord. Cloak billowing around his tall trim form, raven hair bound in his trademark single braid, he was more than a sight for sore eyes. As beautiful as twilight and enigmatic as night, Elladan drew the admiring regard of every person in the vicinity, man, woman and child.

He returned those gazes with a cool and distant civility that oddly enough did not raise anyone’s ire but only increased the interest in him. And the look he gave the prince as the latter neared him was propriety itself. But the waves of thought and feeling that flowed between them was anything but and caused a most inappropriate stiffening in the vicinity of Imrahil’s groin.

Grateful for the fashion of the day, which allowed his long tunic to cover the evidence of his sudden arousal, Imrahil reached out his hand in welcome. It was clasped in the Elf’s warm grip. To all onlookers, it was a gesture of affability between two colleagues of long standing.

“This is a delightful surprise, Lord Elladan,” Imrahil said, fighting to keep from snickering at his spuriously worded greeting.

“I hope you do not mind,” Elladan replied. “But I enjoyed my last stay here and longed to visit your lovely city once more.”

“Not at all,” Imrahil said. “You are always welcome in Dol Amroth.” He stepped aside to allow Elphir to extend his greetings as well.

While his son and Elladan exchanged pleasantries, he made a quick sweep of the courtyard. It was crowded; more so than usual. But then folk tended to congregate in marked numbers whenever any of the Elves of his acquaintance came to Belfalas. He could still recall the great to-do that had ensued when Legolas ventured into Dol Amroth’s marketplace during a visit four years ago.

He could not blame his people or any of the human denizens of Gondor for this fascination with the Elves. Too rarely did they get to lay eyes on these beautiful, eternal beings. And after all, Imrahil himself had not lost all his awe of the Firstborn despite being bound to one.

He did not know where he unearthed the forbearance to entrust Elladan’s entertainment to Elphir while he went on to meet with the Lebennin party. But he would be forever grateful for his secretary’s efficiency and unquestioning rescues whenever he lost track of the talks due to the byways his mind tended to meander down. He made up his mind by the meeting’s end to raise Hirluin’s already enviable salary.

The midday meal proved a torment as he played the gracious host to the Elvenlord and a few guests when in fact, he begrudged every dazzling smile and complimentary remark Elladan bestowed on the other diners, including his own sons. It was only with the greatest effort that he managed to keep his hands to himself when what he yearned to do was lay said hands on his mate and sundry parts of his anatomy. Well, what was to be expected after a parting of more than a year?

With a mental shake of his head, Imrahil wryly conceded that it hardly mattered whether it was a year or a day. He simply hated the separations they perforce endured, lengthy or brief. He had not been able to return to Rivendell much to his regret. But Elladan oft came to Gondor in service to his king-brother. Minas Tirith, Emyn Arnen, the elven colony in Ithilien, here in Dol Amroth—they trysted wherever opportunity found them, making each and every reunion as unforgettable as possible even for an Elf. Such heady memories sustained them during the droughts between.

He looked across at the Elf, amazed as always at his surpassing fairness and incomparable allure. Even the males of his species, supposedly immune to the charms of another male, could not help being drawn to him, though none would entertain the idea of their feelings being anything more than fascination and curiosity. The women though ... 

Imrahil sighed inwardly. He no longer bothered to count the number of hearts that were broken each time Elladan, Elrohir or Legolas came to Belfalas. Not that any of the Elves sought the adulation or desire—they simply were irresistible and even the most sensible of women lost their hearts to them.

And possibly some men, he mused with some amusement. Elven-blooded or not.

It was easy to cross the line into thinking the Elves as soft and lovely as any woman. They were white of skin with incredibly smooth flesh, bore the most intoxicating yet elusive scents, carried themselves with unbelievable grace, and were so slender and lithe of form as to seem ethereal beside their mortal counterparts. Even the twins with their more brawny frames were still far more willowy than human males. And there was also the matter of their facial comeliness. Handsome was an inadequate adjective. Beautiful was closer to the mark.

Yes, it was easy to cross the line when every aspect of their appearance gave credence to the belief that they were fragile, yielding creatures. Until one saw them in battle as so many of the current population had not. Or made the mistake of provoking them into an active response of displeasure as some had done to their great regret. Then one realized the steel and power beneath and learned to tread cautiously around them instead.

'If only they knew how that steel and power could be employed at other times,' he thought, a smirk curling his lips. Then again, mayhap it was best they did not else he would have to keep a close guard on his Elf. He had long admitted that when it came to Elladan’s favors, he was a jealous and avowedly selfish lover.

“Father?”

Imrahil came out of his reverie with a start and glanced at Amrothos. His son was looking at him curiously. As were the others, Imrahil realized ruefully. Except Elladan. 

His gaze told Imrahil that he knew all too well where his thoughts had wandered. Flushing faintly beneath that knowing regard, the prince turned an inquiring look on his youngest son.

“What amuses you so much that you no longer find our company interesting?” Amrothos cheekily queried.

Imrahil shook his head. “Forgive me, I was only reminiscing,” he said. “'Tis a function of old age, I fear, to look to the past at the most inopportune moments.”

He heard the snorts of mirth and disbelief around him. “Old age, my lord?” gasped one of the guests, a young nobleman from Anfalas. In his enthusiasm, he seemed to have forgotten the art of tact. “I see no evidence of it, and I confess I came here wondering if the rumors of your enduring youth were true!”

“Well, as you can see, they are not mere hearsay but fact,” Erchirion put in kindly upon seeing the man’s sudden embarrassment at being so forward in his views. “‘Tis a trait that has surfaced from time to time in our line and my father is but the latest to be blessed with it.”

That was inarguably true. Imrahil had long proved Elladan’s contention that he could one day pass as one of his own sons. They did not bear the marks of their elvish blood as blatantly as he, but Imrahil’s children were also slow to age though not as remarkably as their father. One could not blame their noble guest for being overwhelmed to be at table with so seemingly ageless a family. Not to mention one eternally youthful-looking Elf.

It was with relief that Imrahil signaled the end of the meal. He still had several meetings to attend and now wished to get on with them as quickly as possible. The sooner he could end his day’s toils, the sooner he would gain the night’s reward. And it promised to be a delightful long night if the gleam in Elladan’s eyes was any indication of what the Elf had in mind for them.

Imrahil exited the dining hall a tad more swiftly. No sense letting himself get more aroused than he was already or he would make a fool of himself again. Hirluin could save his face only so many times.

Small wonder his temper markedly darkened by nightfall. Not only had one of the conferences dragged on interminably and for no other reason than an insufferably pedantic baron, but he had also been forced to dine by himself when the last meeting extended way past the dinner hour. There was nothing grimmer than supping alone when one had been looking forward to convivial company to soothe one’s testy nerves.

He came to his chamber feeling definitely put upon and the sensation grew worse when he entered his room and found it empty. He could not deny he’d been expecting something and to find his expectation dashed did not improve his temper one whit. He was on the verge of slamming his fist into the wall when a timid knock on the door forestalled him. Sighing, he opened it and glared at the offending intruder. It was a servant girl who wilted considerably under the prince’s black regard.

“What is it?” he asked impatiently.

“Si-sire, I was asked to–to give you this,” the lass quavered.

Imrahil scowled and took the slip of parchment from her shaking fingers. He unfolded it. An instant later, his eyes widened and the servant found herself witness to a startling transformation. The prince’s scowl promptly vanished to be replaced by a grin so bright it outshone the oil lamps that lighted the corridor.

“Is–is there a reply, my-my lord?” the girl queried timorously.

Imrahil’s smile broadened. “Oh, aye,” he said. “But I will take care of delivering it myself. You may go, child.”

Hardly had the servant disappeared from sight when he hastily cast off his silver circlet, court tunic and dress boots and slipped on a pair of light shoes before leaving his room. Clad simply in shirt and breeches, he hurried down the stairs, traversed the main hallway leading to the seaward wing of the castle and out the rear gate. Ignoring the sentries’ startled stares, he swiftly descended the stone steps that led to the beach below. He soon vanished from their curious gazes as he strode along the shoreline into the distant shadows.

It was a bright night, the full moon providing more than adequate light for his purposes. But he was guided not only by his eyes, but by his senses as well. Something beckoned to him, leading him to his quarry straightly.

He came to a stretch of beach strewn with great boulders and a few gaunt trees. He glanced about wonderingly. A moment later, he gasped as strong hands caught his shoulders and thrust him against the tree behind him. He had a second to stare at his Elven mate’s comely countenance before Elladan moved in for a pillaging kiss. And then he could make no sound save those that came from deep in his throat as his mouth was summarily invaded.

Hands swiftly tore his shirt open and pulled it down his arms. His breech-laces were loosened and he groaned as a heated palm slid in to cup and fondle his already raging need before drawing it out of its confines. He drew in a ragged breath when a likewise hot and swollen shaft came into contact with his and began to slide against it.

Grabbing Elladan by the hips, he realized only then that his mate was totally unclothed. That served to stoke his passion even further and he pulled the Elf flush against him. But Elladan drew away and, before Imrahil could protest, dropped to his knees before him. The prince nearly exclaimed as he was drawn into the moist warmth of the Elf’s mouth.

It took all his will to keep from keening his pleasure or collapsing from it as Elladan proceeded to attend quite voraciously to his rigid shaft. Bracing himself against the tree, he could only clutch roughly at Elladan’s shoulders or run his hand through the satin of his sable hair as he was steadily brought closer to his release.

When it came, it struck him so forcefully he dug his fingers fiercely into the trunk behind him while Elladan drained him with rapacious fervor. Spent, he only waited for the warrior to divest him of his breeches and shoes ere he sank down into his embrace and allowed Elladan to cradle him in his arms.

Still panting harshly, he scarcely registered the soft blanket beneath him; vaguely noted a bottle of wine to one side. He glanced up woozily into Elladan’s beaming countenance. A crooked grin curled his own lips. He should have known the Elf would see as much to his comfort as he would his pleasure.

He watched lazily as Elladan took up the wine and uncorked it with his teeth. He chuckled at the roguish manner. Elladan tipped the bottle invitingly. Imrahil obligingly parted his lips to accept the thin stream of wine the Elf poured then moaned as Elladan captured him in a deep kiss, plying his tongue to taste the dregs of the wine in his mouth.

By the fourth swig and follow-up kiss, he was panting with renewed need. But Elladan declined to proceed any further than to hold him close and he determinedly held himself in check. After his wearying day, it was soothing to just lie in his mate’s arms. And besides, letting the Elf set the pace ensured unimaginable bliss afterward. He was not about to complain.

He chuckled suddenly. Elladan raised an inquiring eyebrow.

“I was thinking of the contents of your note,” Imrahil explained. “I had not thought elvish could be so—salty.”

“I only wanted to ensure that you knew 'twas not for a mere stroll that I wanted you to join me here,” Elladan grinned.

“But there are subtler ways of imparting that without saying right out that you wished to have your pleasure of me!” Imrahil said.

“I believe I wrote ‘to spill myself in you’, _melethen_ ”—my love—Elladan drawled causing Imrahil to choke at the memory. “Why be vague when 'tis so much better to be clear about one’s intentions?”

Imrahil shook his head, halfway between a groan and chortle. “I will be forever grateful to the forefather who decreed my family should learn Sindarin,” he said. “The things you write ... I would not be able to hold my head up in Gondor were anyone to read your letters to me.”

Elladan smiled. “What use is knowing another language if one does not take advantage of it?” he pointed out. Then of a sudden, his eyes gleamed with tenderness. “I missed you, Imrahil,” he softly said.

“I missed you, too,” Imrahil murmured. He gazed at Elladan, suddenly sharply aware of the Elf’s incandescent beauty. “Valar, but you are beautiful!” he softly exclaimed, reaching to stroke the other’s sculpted jaw. “Has a man ever been so blessed as I?”

“Or an Elf,” Elladan whispered. In one fluid motion, he climbed onto Imrahil and coaxed his legs apart. “It has been too long, my prince,” he cooed, slipping between the man’s spread thighs.

Imrahil drew in a ragged breath as he was swiftly taken. For the next several heartbeats, he lost himself in the ecstasy of their joining, happily bearing his Elven mate’s driving thrusts. 

Staring raptly at Elladan as the latter moved above him, he thought gratefully once more that fate had been most kind to him to bestow a second chance at love upon his bereaved heart. And then he could no longer focus on anything as rapture rapidly overtook him. When the first waves of his climax hit him, he closed his eyes and gritted his teeth lest he screamed out his pleasure for all to hear.

Elladan soon followed him into bliss, shuddering as he made good his promise to spill himself within his prince. Gasping as his rode out the aftershocks of his release, he leaned down and sealed his lips to Imrahil’s, swallowing the man’s moans even as he smothered his own expressions of pleasure. It was several minutes before either could form coherent thought again.

With a sigh, Elladan laid his head on Imrahil’s shoulder. The man smiled at the soft sound and held him close, running his fingers through the Elf’s dark tresses. Moments like this more than made up for their separations. He glanced down at Elladan.

Imrahil slightly frowned as he studied the Elf-lord’s expression. He had come to know Elladan well and recognized the signs that heralded a change in his mood. The look on his face boded some matter of import.

“Elladan?”

“Hm?”

“You did not come to Dol Amroth only to visit me, did you.”

There was a telling pause before Elladan lifted his head and gazed at him with veiled eyes. “There is something else,” he admitted.

“What is it?” Imrahil queried, unable to quell the slight alarm that singed him.

Elladan shook his head. “I do not wish to mar this night with grave matters,” he murmured. “There is time enough to speak of them tomorrow.”

“But—”

Fingers to his lips silenced him followed by a long, liquid kiss that left him breathless with renewed lust. Elladan drew away slightly, his eyes glittering in the moonlit dark.

“Tonight is for loving,” he whispered. “Have me now, my heart. Make me yours.”

He rolled onto his back, pulling his beloved atop him. Desire fiercely surging through him once more, Imrahil did not hesitate to grant his Elf-mate’s wish.

_To be continued…_


	16. Choice

Refreshed by a full night’s loving, Imrahil greeted the following day with good cheer and more patience than even he was known for. Despite a spate of meetings, some acrimonious enough to make even the affable Hirluin almost lose his temper, he remained in the best of moods.

What made him so amenable no one could say. The guards who had seen him take his long walk the evening before could only attest that he had returned from it way beyond the midnight hour with the brightest of eyes and the widest of smiles on his countenance. Indeed, he had been in so mellow a mood he had greeted them heartily even to addressing them by their given names.

Speculation had long risen that the prince had found another to balm his widower’s heart. But which of the fief’s comely ladies had captured his elusive affections remained a mystery and one that did not look to be solved in the near future. Imrahil had merely shrugged off the rumors and attended to his duties though deep inside, he struggled to contain his mirth that the rumors should be so far off the mark as far as the object of his affections was concerned.

It was mid afternoon before he was at last able to extricate himself from the tedium of princely chores. He retreated with relief to his study and awaited Elladan’s arrival there.

It was his private sanctum, the one place aside from his bedchamber where he could find complete respite from the daily duties his station imposed on him. No one walked in on him uninvited or unannounced when he retired to his study. As with his bedchamber, he could relax here and do as he desired, secure that nothing he wished to keep secret would escape its confines.

While he waited he peered out of the window. The view was soothing and familiar for the study overlooked the open sea. The vast expanse of blue beyond the rugged shores of Dol Amroth was in his opinion one of the most wondrous sights a man could ever hope to lay his eyes on.

Several feet below his window was a spacious enclosure strictly reserved for the royal family’s use. He grinned as he espied his grandson Alphros strolling about with his infant son on his shoulder, his lady wife beside him as they took in the salty ocean breeze. A moment later, Elphir and Amrothos and their respective wives joined them. Laughter floated up to the prince as his youngest son teased the eldest for being such a besotted grandsire. To which the eldest of course rejoined that the youngest would eat his words when his own children presented him with their whelps.

Imrahil chortled as he listened to their conversation. A warm feeling stole over him as he considered anew his good fortune in having so loving a family. Until Elladan had filled his heart once more, it was they who had kept him going after Aerin’s death. For love of his children had he soldiered on in spite of his grief.

The sound of the door opening behind him heralded a most welcome arrival. He did not turn around but waited for his Elf-mate to join him at the window. He did not wait long as a pair of arms circled his waist and a chin came to rest on his shoulder. A soft chuckle feathered his ear as the twin listened to the debate below.

“Your sons are as wicked of wit as you, Imrahil,” Elladan said.

Imrahil nodded with a laugh. “To the despair of their mother,” he remarked. “Aerin used to say that there were times she was tempted to deny they were hers!”

Elladan snickered. “And did she ever yearn to say that of you as well?”

Imrahil sighed dramatically. “More times than I care to admit,” he admitted.

“Mmm, but then she did not know just how wicked your tongue can be,” Elladan murmured. “Proper wives seldom ever know the joys of the attentions of improper husbands.”

Imrahil let out an amused snort. “Few ladies are encouraged to explore that aspect of the marriage bed,” he pointed out. “Aerin was more adventurous than most, but she still had her limits.”

“While you no longer have any,” Elladan drawled.

Imrahil could not help coloring somewhat as he recalled just how far Elladan was willing to push the boundaries in love-play. Just when he thought he knew everything there was to know about coupling, the Elf would disabuse him of the notion and often vigorously at that. Shaking his head, he turned to face Elladan, a questioning gaze alighting on the twin.

“How long did you linger on the beach after I left you last night?” he inquired.

Elladan shrugged. “For an hour or so. I did not wish to give the sentries reason to speculate why we were both out there. I waited for the next shift to come on duty.”

Imrahil pursed his lips ruefully. “I am sorry,” he murmured. “If only it were permissible I would announce our relationship to all of Middle-earth.”

Elladan smiled and brushed his lips against the man’s mouth. “No apologies, Imrahil. We do what we must. What matters is that you love me.”

“Aye, that I do,” Imrahil said. “With all my heart.”

Elladan’s eyes clouded then. “As I do with mine,” he whispered. He hugged the prince a little tighter, pressing his face into the other’s shoulder.

Imrahil felt the slight alarm of the night before snake up his spine. He drew back slightly and looked into his mate’s troubled face. “Elladan? What is it that you came here to tell me?” he asked, unsure whether he wished to hear it.

The Elf bit his lip then took a deep breath. “Círdan has decided to sail for Valinor,” he whispered.

Imrahil stared at him then sharply breathed in. “Sweet Eru. When?”

“Next year come autumn. ‘Tis time enough to prepare for the journey.”

The prince leaned back against the wall, folding his arms across his chest, feeling suddenly weak. “Why now?” he queried shakily. “Do you know why?”

Elladan nodded. “He received word that his beloved has been released from the Halls of Awaiting,” he softly replied. “He no longer has reason to linger in Middle-earth when his love awaits him in Aman.”

“Then you and Elrohir must go,” Imrahil said faintly. Elladan nodded somberly. 

The man swallowed painfully. “I have tried to ready myself for this…” He swallowed again and glanced out the window unseeingly. “You came to say goodbye,” he whispered.

There was a pause. And then Elladan took his left hand and raised it to his lips. He shivered at the sensation of the Elf’s lips ghosting along the skin of his palm, tracing the path of the binding-scar therein.

“Whether I bid you farewell or not will depend on you,” Elladan said at last.

Imrahil looked at him, perplexed. “On me? What do you mean?”

Elladan took a moment to compose himself then said, “The night after we received Círdan’s summons, the Lady appeared to me in a dream.”

“The Lady?” Imrahil frowned. For a moment, he was nonplussed. And then it dawned on him that Elladan was not referring to Galadriel, the former Lady of the Golden Wood, but to the queen of the Valar herself. Elbereth. Remembrance of this fact swiftly led to cognizance of another.

“She had a message for you?” he ventured.

“Aye, and so improbable a message I thought I had dreamt falsely at first,” Elladan said. “But Elrohir received the same dream, as did my grandfather Celeborn.”

Imrahil’s curiosity flared. “What did the Lady show you?”

The Elf’s eyes glazed over as he remembered the details of his portentous dream. “She led me to the Halls of Awaiting. To the great chamber where are housed the spirits of men before they depart for wherever it is that men’s souls abide. I saw Manwë standing at the threshold of the chamber and Námo by his side. And before them was your foresire—Galador.”

Imrahil’s eyes widened. But he did not speak and only waited for Elladan to continue.

“Manwë asked one question of him before Galador left their presence. And then others were brought before him and the same question was repeated. Angelahâd. Inzildôr. Zimrabêth. Adramir. Edrahil. Ivoriel. Zimrakhôr...”

Imrahil’s heart beat harder and faster with each mention of a scion of his family. These lords and ladies—what was it that tied them all together? Something nagged at him.

And then it hit him. These were the men and women of his line who had borne the evidence of their elven blood most apparently. Unless struck down in battle or by illness, all had been incredibly long-lived, surviving spouses, siblings and children for many years beyond what was considered natural for mortals. And all had been slow to age, surpassingly fair of countenance and possessed of the tall and slender form most oft associated with Elves.

“What were they asked?” he inquired anxiously.

Elladan’s pewter eyes caught his gaze and held it. “They were asked if they wished to pass on beyond the circles of the world ... or to be released from the Halls of Awaiting and be accounted amongst the Firstborn of Valinor.”

Imrahil gaped at him in shock. “Why?” he hoarsely asked. “What merited them this-this offer?”

“Because of Mithrellas,” came the logical answer. “Galador should have been offered the choice of the Peredhil ere he died. But the Valar had seen what the future held and could not allow his line in Middle-earth to end, a chance that was risked were he to choose immortality. Thus they withheld the choice and offered it only after he entered the Halls of Mandos.”

When Imrahil stared at him bewilderedly, he explained, “He had to sire children. To beget descendants who would perpetuate your line. You had to be born, Imrahil. And your sister’s sons had to be born.”

Comprehension lit the man’s cobalt grey eyes. “Boromir and Faramir,” he said. “It had to do with the Quest.”

Elladan nodded. “They both had pivotal parts in it. Without Boromir’s presence, Frodo would not have left the Company of the Ring when he did and circumstances might have proven otherwise. And Faramir ensured Frodo’s survival and success when he succored him in Ithilien.”

Imrahil blew out his breath. “But what of myself?” he murmured. “Why was my birth of such import?”

Elladan raised a hand to run gentle fingers along his cheek and jaw. “Because Faramir needed you. ‘Twas your nurturing that made him the man he is today. Why he was able to let Frodo and the Ring go when others would have kept them. You stood as father to him. Guided and loved him as Denethor did not. Because of your influence on him, Faramir had the wisdom and strength to resist the Ring’s allure. Had he not, Middle-earth would not exist as we now know it.”

“I see.” Imrahil fell silent, overwhelmed by the knowledge of his own predestined place in the scheme of things. “But ... what does this have to do with the choice of the Half-elven?”

Elladan’s grip on his hand tightened. “You are the last to be offered the choice.”

Imrahil nearly choked on this. “The last?” he gasped. “But what of my children? Those who will come after them?”

Elladan sadly shook his head. “Your family’s charge ended with the fall of Sauron. Your destiny has been fulfilled. You are the last of your line strongly blessed with Mithrellas’s blood.” The Elf hesitated. “You are the last to be given the choice ... and the first to be offered it while you still live.”

This time, Imrahil was so thunderstruck he could not remain standing, but almost staggered where he stood. Elladan helped him to a chair by the window. He sank down into it, putting a trembling hand to his forehead.

“How long—?” he stammered, remembering the limits placed on Elrond’s children when they’d had to make the same decision.

“You have until next autumn,” Elladan quietly answered. “You must take ship with me if you choose to be of Elfkind.”

“What?” Imrahil stared at him, stupefied. So soon! How could the Powers expect anyone to make such a decision in so short a time? “I am expected to make such a decision so quickly?” he exclaimed. “Confound it, Elladan! It took you nigh three thousand years to make your choice and you knew it was there to be made! Damn them all! Why have they given me this burden only now?”

“I do not know,” Elladan said honestly, ignoring his mate’s somewhat blasphemous utterances. Even the Valar themselves would not take exception considering the prince’s sudden straits.

Imrahil did not know whether to laugh in hysteria or weep with frustration. He began to breathe erratically in his agitation. Elladan drew close to him and placed a hand on his shoulder, rubbing it soothingly.

“How can I make such a choice and so swiftly?” Imrahil said harshly. “I have never had to think on this as you and yours have. The Valar would ask me to consider leaving all that I have known and loved and decide on this in less than a year? ‘Tis folly, Elladan! I cannot choose wisely! Not like this!”

The hand on his shoulder stilled, then slipped away. Imrahil stared up stricken, realizing the hurt he had unwittingly inflicted on the Elf.

“Forgive me, my heart!” he exclaimed, catching Elladan to him by his waist. “I did not mean to imply that I love you any less—”

Elladan cupped his face in his warm hands. “I know how you feel,” he softly said. “I had to make the same choice and with more time than is given you now.” He stroked the man’s cheeks tenderly with his palms. “Only you can decide what your fate must be. But whatever you choose, make it because ‘tis what you desire. Do not decide it for anyone else’s sake, not even mine. Choose for yourself, Imrahil _nîn_. Whatever your choice may be, I will abide by it and love you just the same. Always.”

Imrahil drew a convulsive breath. And then he snaked his arms around Elladan’s waist and held him close. He pressed his face into the Elf’s flat belly and tried to calm himself. He felt Elladan’s hand sift through his dark hair. Loving. Balming. But for once his mate’s touch was not enough to wholly ease the turmoil in his heart and soul.

***********************  
Glossary:  
Imrahil nîn – my Imrahil

_To be continued…_


	17. Torn

_Firith_ F.A. 33  
How did one reckon time in an eternal land? How did a being endure the endless years, watching all else fade into history while one continued to be and evolve? How did the Elves stave off the weariness of life without surcease, life with all its sorrows as well as its joys? How could anyone bear the everlasting weight of uncounted years pressing down inexorably and without end?

Imrahil pondered these questions in the days that followed Elladan’s revelation of his fate. It was not as simple or easy a choice as one might expect. He had wondered why Elladan and his brother and sister had taken so long—nearly three thousand years—to make their choices. Had marveled at the folly of Elrond’s twin Elros for having chosen mortality. Had admired the Evenstar’s courage in abiding by the Doom of Man in the name of love, yet at the same time questioned the worthiness of her sacrifice’s reward. It was a gift, he had oft thought. Why would anyone hesitate to take it?

But now, faced with the same choice, he realized it was as much a curse as a gift. For its bestowal was contingent not on the irrefutable command of a higher power, but on one’s own frail reasoning and changeable desires. If he made the wrong choice, there would be no one to fault save himself. None to rail at for his misery and regret. Except himself.

He finally understood the enormity of the Peredhil’s choice. Elrond had chosen immortality and lost his brother and only daughter to the clutches of time and space itself. Had nearly lost his sons as well but for the bonds of love that had tied Elrohir to Legolas and held Elladan to Elrohir.

He tried to imagine Elrond’s grief at parting with his daughter, knowing he would never see her again or hear her voice or feel her touch. He would not even know the essence of her spirit once she left this world for the great beyond to which no Elf save the Peredhil’s foremother Luthien had passed. For her soul was no longer linked with her parents’ or brothers’ but with Elessar’s to whom she was irrevocably bound. Such was the price paid for the love she bore him.

It was different for him and Elladan. Their souls belonged to each other and such a bond transcended even the barrier of human death. But that same bond would now sunder him from his children not only in the here and now, but also in the eternal hereafter that was the lot of mortals. Bound as he was to Elladan, were he to take ship with him, he would bid farewell to these dearest of kin forever. The barrier of their eventual deaths would tear them apart for all time, owned as he was by his Elven mate.

In one thing were his circumstances different from the Peredhil’s. He had received the offer of eternity _after_ he had known the joy and fulfillment of paternity. Neither Elrond nor Elros had sired children at the time of their choosing. Both had chosen their paths for reasons of love, Elrond for the wisdom of and sense of oneness with the Firstborn, Elros for the woman who eventually became his Númenorean queen.

Love as well had persuaded Elrohir to tread his father’s path, just as it had led Arwen down her uncle’s road. Elladan, though unfettered by a lover’s affections, had chosen as his twin because of the close bond between them; so close he could not subject Elrohir to endless grief at his loss.

Love. It was a recurring reason for the choices that had been made. But none had been torn between the love one bore for one’s mate and the love one carried for one’s children. The beloved fruit of his own loins. The babes he had cradled in his arms and tenderly sung to sleep. The little ones who had run to him for solace and protection during the fiercest ocean-spawned storms. The children who had presented to him another generation to love and cherish.

His children. Elphir, Erchirion, Amrothos and Lothíriel. His grandchildren. From Alphros and his siblings to Elfwine and his sisters. And his first great-grandchild, Alphros’s eldest.

How could he part from them so wholly and permanently? Was Elladan’s love enough to give him the strength to endure their loss? Would the memory of their love and lives be enough to sustain him?

He recalled a conversation he’d had with Queen Arwen before they departed for Rohan to entrust King Theoden to the care of his forefathers. He had asked her then, rather boldly he had to admit, how she could have forsaken not only her immortality, but her immortal kin as well. Could she not have wed Elessar ad then taken ship for Valinor as her brothers would one day do? Could she not have done as his foremother had? Bear her king his heirs and then leave Middle-earth for the Blessed Realm?

“But all I would have of him then would be mere memory,” she had gravely answered. “Nay, I will go where he goes that our lives may continue together even beyond the circles of this world.”

It was then that he had reversed his opinion of her uncle’s folly and come to revere Elros for his courage and deep capacity for love instead. And now he could not help wondering what might have happened had he and Elladan loved each other before that fateful night. Would Elladan have chosen as his sister? Would history have been repeated—twins cloven apart by the sheer and irresistible force of love?

But it was fruitless to debate that now. The choice was no longer theirs, but his. Imrahil sighed and rubbed his forehead vexedly with his fingers. Nearly four months had already passed and he was no closer to an answer than he had been at the start. He rose from behind his study desk and passed through the connecting door to his bedchamber.

It was past midnight and all was still and silent. His eyes strayed to his bed and softened at first sight of the beauteous Elf who lay between his sheets. He could not help a possessive smirk when he noted the telltale bruises that marked Elladan’s moonlit flesh. They trailed from his throat to his shoulders and chest and down to his belly to disappear beneath the cover that barely concealed his hips. The smirk grew more pronounced as Imrahil saw in his mind’s eye the remainder of those bruises and where they had been inflicted.

He groaned when he felt his loins stir with unmistakable desire. He stifled it hastily and moved toward his balcony instead. He had risen from bed to think, he sternly told himself. ‘Twas why he had secluded himself in the adjoining study. The sight of his sleeping mate in all his bared glory was simply too much of a temptation and did nothing for the clarity of his thoughts.

He stepped out onto the balcony and inhaled the crisp sea air. The moon was muted tonight and even the myriad stars could not shed enough light for him to see the ocean. But he could hear its alternating roar and murmur. He closed his eyes and let the sounds calm his soul.

He would not find his answer tonight, he acknowledged. Just as he had not found it in the past sixteen weeks. A part of him feared he would still be at a loss when the time of choosing came upon him and he would be forced to make a decision, for ill or good, wisely or not.

In all these anxious months, Elladan had always lent him succor. He had not attempted to force or coerce him into making a choice favorable to him. He had stayed true to his conviction that whatever Imrahil decided, it had to be for the prince’s good and no other’s. Just as Elrond had not pressured his children into making their decisions precipitately, so did Elladan now desist from hurrying Imrahil into one. It had indeed taken him and his siblings millennia to know their minds and hearts on this matter. He would not begrudge Imrahil even one day of the impossibly brief time given him to consider the same dilemma.

Most times, Imrahil was grateful for the Elf’s unconditional and undemanding support. But occasionally he wished Elladan would aggressively pursue his desire as he had pursued Imrahil twenty years ago. Such moments were quickly followed by shame that he should even think of subjecting his mate to reproach should he regret giving in to Elladan’s wishes.

“What did the others choose?” he once asked in frustration after a night plagued by troubling dreams. “Did any decide to join Elf-kind? Do you know?”

“Only one,” Elladan admitted. “Zimrakhôr.”

Imrahil stared at him in shocked cognizance. Of all those who had gone before him, only one had turned his back on his humanity and chosen the path of the Firstborn. It was not surprising. Zimrakhôr alone had been unwed and without progeny at the time of his passing. More elven than man in life, he’d had nothing to lose and everything to gain by choosing to be of Elf-kind.

“If you were free, would he approach you in Valinor?” Imrahil asked hesitantly.

“I do not know,” Elladan replied honestly. “But it is moot to consider that as I am not free.”

“Yet you would be alone if I—” Imrahil broke off then tried again. “I need to know, Elladan. Would you be forbidden to seek comfort from another?”

Elladan regarded him somberly. “There is no precedent for a binding such as ours,” he said. “My forefather Tuor was given the life of the Eldar by Eru himself and thus still lives in Aman with Idril his wife. I do not know if such a thing would be permitted that I should cast aside my vows to seek comfort elsewhere.”

“But you have spoken of the Doom of Finwë and Mîriel,” Imrahil mused. “Did she not choose to remain in the Halls of Awaiting eternally to allow Finwë to take Indis to wife?” When Elladan nodded, he said, “Could I not give you leave as she did him?”

Elladan gazed at him, sorrow blossoming in his eyes. “Is this your way of telling me that you have made your choice?” he softly asked.

Imrahil drew his breath in sharply. “Nay!” he exclaimed. “I have not yet made my decision. I only ask this for I need to know what will become of you should ... should we part ways.” When Elladan only looked at him intently, he sighed and whispered, “Am I worth the pain, Elladan?”

He felt the Elf’s warm hand on his face, caressing his cheek with utmost tenderness. “I would not have taken you to mate if I had thought you unworthy,” he murmured. “And as for your offer—I could not accept it, Imrahil. I am yours whether you are with me or not. I cannot share myself with any other. I do not desire to.”

Imrahil shivered at the memory of Elladan's loving afterwards. Though no further along in resolving his problem, he felt his desire for his Elf-mate grow once more. He returned to his chamber.

Gazing down at Elladan, he felt his desire grow even deeper. Drawing a steadying breath, he surrendered to his need and shrugged off his robe. He pulled down the cover, his eyes glittering with love and lust as he did. He climbed into bed and, slipping between Elladan’s legs, breached his mate without much preamble.

Elladan stirred as he was pierced, then moaned as he was slowly roused from his dreams by the steady delving of his flesh. He opened his eyes dazedly and met Imrahil’s darkened gaze. He did not resist but gave himself unto his mate’s desire, wrapping his long legs around the prince’s waist and lifting his hips to meet the man’s quickening thrusts.

In their joinings there was as much comfort for the soul as there was satisfaction for the body.

* * * *

_Ethuil_ F.A. 34  
Winter passed and spring slowly enfolded Belfalas in its gentler embrace. The coastal fief shed its drab raiment for the brighter-shaded hues of the unfolding season. Ships plied the sea once more in abundance, no longer impeded by perilous storms and uncertain waters. And everywhere the roads turned busy as numerous tradesmen, journeymen and messengers made their way to and from the seaward princedom.

With them came news from abroad as well as the resumption of various calls to duty and responsibilities.

One such missive reached Elladan just as he was finishing the midday meal in company with Imrahil and his sons and daughter. Lothíriel had come to Dol Amroth to visit her father and brothers. Her children would follow in the summer.

Imrahil noted the frown that creased Elladan’s white brow as he read the letter. “Is it ill news?” he asked.

Elladan sighed and shook his head. He looked up at the prince, spared quick glances for the others. “‘Tis from Elrohir,” he quietly said. “He only wished to inform me of the definite date of our departure. Círdan wishes to leave no later than the end of September.”

Imrahil barely managed to keep his face from revealing his sudden distress. His children, however, had no need to conceal their surprise.

“Leave?” Lothíriel echoed. “For where, Lord Elladan?”

The Elf smiled sadly at her and said, “Valinor.”

There was a concerted gasp around the table. Imrahil’s children already knew about the Peredhil’s choice. Like their father, they had naught but deep admiration and respect for their Elven queen and the sacrifice she had made for her beloved husband’s sake. But they had not realized that the queen’s brothers would not be able to remain in Middle-earth indefinitely.

“Why must you go so soon?” Elphir asked curiously. “Are all the Elves leaving Middle-earth with you?”

Elladan shook his head. “‘Tis a pact we took that permitted my brother and me to remain in Middle-earth as long as we have,” he explained. “But now we must heed Círdan’s summons or risk being barred from Aman forever.” While the others murmured their regrets and dismay, he looked at Imrahil, his eyes conveying much more than what he actually said. “Elrohir and I must put our affairs in order that Rivendell may pass peacefully into history. I will have to return home at the end of spring.”

Imrahil thought his heart would burst from the anguish that suddenly assailed him. He dropped his eyes to his plate and kept it there until he felt himself in control of his emotions once more. Only then did he dare raise them and look at Elladan once more.

“Then we must ensure that the remainder of your stay here will be memorable,” he said. “Would that I could visit Rivendell one more time before you leave.”

Elladan gazed at him, a meaningful gleam in his pewter eyes. “If you do, you will have to come by the last week of August at the latest for it is almost a month’s ride to Mithlond. We must leave Imladris by then if we are to reach the Havens in time to take ship with Círdan.”

Imrahil winced inwardly at the subtle reminder of the limited time he had to make up his mind. But he only nodded and said, “I will keep that in mind.”

* * * *

Spring’s end neared and so did Elladan’s departure for the north. It was all Imrahil could do to keep himself from spending more time than was seemly in the Elf-lord’s company. But prince and warrior that he was, he soldiered on, doing his duty as ruler, diplomat and king’s counsellor, governing his fief and attending to its various affairs whether of state, trade or culture, and concealing the ever constant turmoil in his breast.

It had not grown easier at all to see his way. If anything, the closer the time of choosing drew, the harder it became for him to let go of all that he held dear to his heart. His children, his home, his people. Like it or not, to leave Middle-earth for Elvenhome would be as exile to him who had never even dreamed of setting foot in the Undying Lands, much less residing there for eternity.

“Will Celeborn take ship with you?” he asked Elladan during one of their frequent walks along the beach behind the castle.

Elladan shook his head. “Nay, he will most likely join Legolas when the time comes as will Legolas’s father, Thranduil.”

“But where will he reside when you are gone?” Imrahil wondered. “Surely he will not live alone in Rivendell.”

“He will return to his people in East Lórien,” Elladan said. “He never completely forsook them, but has resided there every once in a while. At least, he will have Thranduil’s company until their time of departure comes.”

Imrahil felt an immeasurable sadness weigh down on him. The thought of the hidden vale passing into legend, its beauties and wonders slowly giving way before the onslaught of time, reduced to ancient ruins that would mystify generations of men to come… It was depressing to say the least. Yet it was the fate of immortals to see their life’s works slowly succumb to the ravages of the encroaching ages.

At least, mere men did not have to bear witness to the inevitable erosion of what they wrought in their lifetimes, he thought. Mortality was not without its graces or blessings.

Elladan came to his chamber the last night of his stay. Both knew it could be a parting for the present or forever. Elladan only requested one thing of him ere they melded their bodies together in ardent union.

“If you should choose my path, come to Rivendell, my prince,” he quietly said. “If not, a letter will suffice to inform me of your decision. I do not think I could bear to bid you farewell in the flesh.”

Stricken wordless by Elladan’s muted anxiety and sorrow, Imrahil could only nod his acquiescence.

They spent their final night together in nigh endless coupling. Unleashing all the passion within him, Elladan took him further than he ever had before until he thought he would surely die of the almost excruciating pleasure. When they parted their bodies for the last time, Imrahil was so spent he sank into deep slumber as soon as his mate enfolded him in his warm embrace.

But Elladan did not sleep. Instead he kept watch over his prince, committing to memory every detail of his fair countenance and form.

In the dark before dawn’s first light, he slid out of the bed. He dressed in silence, his eyes riveted on the sleeping man. When he was done, he took a moment to let his tears slide down his pale cheeks. In all these months, he had not let Imrahil see his dread and anguish. He could not, would not burden his love any more than he was already. But now, with their parting at hand, he could not hold his feelings at bay any longer.

Drawing his grey cloak about his shoulders, he continued to gaze at Imrahil. At last, he bent down and pressed a gentle kiss to the prince’s temple. And then he raised the hood of his cloak to hide his tear-streaked countenance and slipped out of the room.

*******************  
Glossary:  
firith – Sindarin for late autumn, roughly October-November  
ethuil – Sindarin for spring

_To be continued…_


	18. Resolve

Imladris, _Úrimë_ F.A. 34  
It was still early by any standard. Ithil had barely risen into the darkened sky and the evening meal was not even an hour past. But for lovers about to part for more years than they cared to imagine, there was no waiting for a more seemly moment. There was no waiting at all when the need to create memories to later depend on for comfort was paramount.

Legolas bit his lip when sensations too strong to resist raced from his nether regions to the creeps and crannies of his writhing form. Supine upon the bed, hips close to the edge of the mattress, legs spread wide and knees raised, he could only grasp fitfully at the snowy sheet beneath him and yield to the wicked tongue that breached him with teasing deliberateness. With such ardent attention paid to that part of his body coupled with the knowing hand that caressed his shaft with firm, ceaseless strokes, it was no wonder that he was constantly on the verge of delicious madness.

It was one of Elrohir’s favored means of reducing him to a state of shameless imploring, which he was managing to avoid for now, but not for much longer. Not when Elrohir dared to deepen his every thrust and quicken his caresses. The first plea finally burst forth from Legolas’s lips. A plea for mercy, for an end to the excruciating rapture.

To his shock, Elrohir did not comply as he’d expected but simply set his mouth to take over from his hand and vice-versa. Legolas gasped when at least three fingers plunged deep into him while skilled lips and the aforementioned wicked tongue applied themselves to ravaging his aching length.

Legolas reared his hips, uncertain whether to push into Elrohir’s mouth, onto his fingers or pull away altogether from the delightfully punishing ministrations of his mate. But the Elf-knight caught him fast. Helpless in Elrohir’s powerful grip, Legolas had no choice but to surrender to his pleasuring.

Incoherent utterances mingled with a sentient word or two as he begged to be released from his exquisite torment. Taking pity at last, Elrohir heeded his pleas. He rose to his feet and, after urging Legolas to move further up, climbed onto the bed between the archer’s parted legs. Withdrawing his fingers, he summarily replaced them with the fearsome sword of his shaft. Wild gasps alternated with deep moans as Legolas felt himself filled to bursting.

The next several moments were given to their steady ascent to the highest peaks of pleasure. Forgetting the existence of everything save for the hard flesh that cleaved him with breath-stealing bliss, the hand that continued to fondle his needful length and the sight of his Elf-knight moving above him with such steely grace, Legolas gave in to his body’s demands. Tears streaming down his cheeks, clutching desperately at Elrohir’s hard thighs, he shuddered his seed into the younger twin’s caressing hand.

Panting hard, he waited for Elrohir’s completion, pushing eagerly into his lover’s bucks. It was not long in coming and he dazedly watched Elrohir ride out the throes of his climax. In its wake, Elrohir rested atop him for several seconds before gently uncoupling their lissome forms and settling at his side. Still breathing shallowly from his own release, Elrohir held out his arms invitingly.

Legolas turned gratefully into Elrohir’s soothing embrace, his arm curling around his mate’s warm body to hold him as snugly as he could. He nuzzled his face against Elrohir’s throat, reveling in the Elf-knight’s singular scent. A sound that was halfway between a groan and a laugh escaped him. Elrohir glanced down at him with a questioning grin.

“You will kill me yet with your wicked ways, _melethen_ ”—my love—Legolas chuckled weakly. “Indeed, I do not know how I have managed to stay alive thus far.”

Elrohir laughed and pressed a kiss to his temple. “But I love to see you well pleased,” he said.

“Pleased!” Legolas sputtered. “‘Tis an outrageous understatement. Undone is closer to the mark.”

“But in blessed rapture I trust?” Elrohir teased.

Legolas smiled with utmost felicity. “Mmmm, almost too much,” he murmured. A mischievous glint sparkled in his sapphire eyes. “I must remember what you did,” he decided. “I refuse to be the only one who begs for relief in our bed!”

Elrohir snickered and held him closer. “I will not protest should you choose to employ my own devices on me,” he promised. “So long as ‘tis you who conquers me thusly, I will willingly surrender.”

Legolas looked at him suspiciously. “And did any conquer you thusly before you had me?” he demanded.

Elrohir was a tad taken aback by his spouse’s sharp tone. “Nay, my sweet prince, you know ‘tis only you who can undo me as hardily,” he said. At the archer’s slightly skeptical reaction, he stroked Legolas’ elegant cheekbones with his fingers. “You are jealous of a sudden. You have no cause to be.”

Legolas had the grace to flush. “I know,” he sighed. “But the thought of you let loose amongst the Elder of Aman is enough to set me worrying,” he admitted. “You are too beautiful to leave alone, _seron vell._ ”—beloved.

“And you are not?” Elrohir said somewhat incredulously. “I could say the same of you, Legolas. ‘Twill not be easy leaving you behind when so many covet you and wish me out of the way.”

Legolas stared at him in surprise. “Then you and I are of the same mind,” he said. “But rest assured, Elrohir, I will not share myself with any other while we are apart. All that I am belongs to you and you alone.”

“And I trust you to keep faith,” Elrohir said tenderly. “As I hope you trust me. I was yours from the moment of your birth. Think you that would change after all these years?”

Legolas gazed at him then smiled with the complete confidence of one who knows he is utterly loved. “Has any babe ever been as blessed as I was?” he sighed happily. “I pray we will nevermore be parted once I join you in Valinor, Elrohir _nîn_.”—my Elf-knight.

Elrohir beamed back at him. But a moment later, his smile faded and his argent eyes took on an anxious, faraway look. Legolas regarded him wonderingly.

“What is wrong?” he softly asked, brushing strands of midnight silk from Elrohir’s cheek.

Elrohir sighed. “Elladan,” he whispered. “We have only this month ere we must leave for the Havens and still he has had no word from Imrahil.”

Legolas snuggled further into Elrohir’s embrace. “He did give Imrahil until the end of the month,” he said hopefully. “Mayhap he is on his way even as we speak.”

“Or merely his letter,” Elrohir gravely added. “I pray ‘tis not so. For all his courageous words, I doubt Elladan will weather such a loss well. Already I see signs of his grief though he tries to conceal them from me.”

Legolas frowned against Elrohir’s chest. “I cannot believe that Imrahil would choose otherwise,” he said. “Why would he give up the chance to be with Elladan forever?”

“Spoken like a pure-blooded _Edhel_ ”—Elf—Elrohir murmured good-naturedly. “The man has a family, Legolas. Would you be so eager to quit Middle-earth were you to leave behind, say, a son who refuses the journey to Aman?” After some hesitation, the archer shook his head. “Think how much harder it must be for Imrahil. Not only the Sea will part him from his children and kindred, but the very grip of fate itself. He will never behold them again even in the afterlife of men. Not until the world ends and we are all gathered together in Eru’s presence. How many unfathomable ages will unfold ere that comes to pass?”

Again, the archer tensed then subsided into his embrace. “I did not think of that,” Legolas admitted. “I had forgotten your own grief at Arwen’s choosing.” He looked up at his mate. “But he will surely inform Elladan of his choice, whether grievous or joyful. Imrahil is an honorable man and a loving one as well.”

“I know,” Elrohir said quietly. “But I feel Elladan’s dread while he awaits that choice. If you had only seen him when he returned from Belfalas. So bereft of cheer and hope. ‘Twas all Grandfather and I could do to lift his spirits anew.”

His dolorous mood affected the woodland prince as well and the latter fell silent, clasping him close as if to stave off their own parting. Thinking of that sorrowful moment, Elrohir chose to give voice to a misgiving he’d harbored for many a day.

“Do not come to the Havens with me, my heart,” he murmured. “‘Twould break me to leave you behind on the quay whilst Círdan’s ship bears me away from you. If I must bid you farewell, let it be here in Imladris while I still call it home.”

Legolas swallowed hard and nodded. Pondering his law-brother’s fate, he suddenly felt an intense gratitude that his destiny had long been decided and that it had lain all these years in Elrohir’s keeping and would do so again once Aragorn’s reign was ended.

He burrowed into his Elf-knight’s arms, kissing him ardently, tasting the sweetness that was uniquely Elrohir’s. “Let me love you, Elrohir,” he said urgently. “If we must bid each other farewell, let the bidding be as long and fervent as possible.”

He pressed Elrohir down onto the bed and staked his claim anew on his Peredhil spouse.

* * * *

Dol Amroth, _Úrui_ FA 34  
The afternoon sun was already lowering in the horizon, casting its red-gold light on the azure expanse of the sea. At other times, it was a sight that brought great delight to Dol Amroth’s lord and prince. But today, there were matters of greater import to occupy him and he gave the view from his study window but a cursory glance.

He turned from it as soon as he heard the soft knock on the study door. At his bidding, his eldest son Elphir and his only daughter Lothíriel entered the chamber. Elphir closed and bolted the door, sensing that what their father had to say was of a most private nature.

“You sent for us, Father?” Lothíriel inquired, after greeting him with a gentle kiss on the cheek.

“Aye,” Imrahil said. He gestured to them to make themselves comfortable. Both settled on the divan along the near wall while he sank into the armchair opposite them.

“There is something I must discuss with you,” he began. “Something I should have told you from the start but that fear kept me from broaching.” He hesitated then said, “It has to do with my friendship with Lord Elladan.”

Both looked at him in some surprise but not as much as he had thought they would. Brother and sister glanced at each other as if in silent question and answer. Elphir regarded his father curiously.

“We have long wondered about it,” he admitted. “You were never so close to any man as you were to Lord Elladan.”

“And you obviously grieve his departure for Valinor,” Lothíriel observed. “Far more than you have ever shown for others.”

Imrahil sighed and reached for the silver chain around his neck. He took it off. The two stared at the _mithril_ locket that was revealed. One they had never seen before. Imrahil silently handed it to Lothíriel. 

Quick as any woman to notice its tiny latch, she sprung it open. She looked at the miniature within and gasped. After a long while, she wordlessly passed it to Elphir. Like Lothíriel, the crown prince gazed long and mutely at the painted image within, his eyes narrowing at the undeniably intimate nature of it.

He looked up to find his father watching him and his sister intently. He took a deep breath and said a little hoarsely: “Father, is—was Lord Elladan your-your lover?”

Imrahil let out a weary exhalation. “More,” he murmured. “He is my binding-mate.”

That rendered both his children speechless for several minutes. Lothíriel’s eyes fell on the beauteous sapphire-bedecked gold band on Imrahil’s right index finger. They had all thought it a gift of friendship from the twin brethren of Rivendell to their father during his one and only visit to the hidden vale. Now its significance was unveiled in full.

“Oh Eru,” she breathed. “‘Tis a wedding ring that you wear. You have been bound to him for all these past twenty years?” When Imrahil nodded, she covered her mouth for a moment, battling to compose herself. Elphir gripped her other hand in support.

“I do not blame you for keeping silent on this matter,” Elphir said quietly. “‘Tis only of late that I have studied much of our family lore and come to understand the peculiarities of our elven heritage. But I confess I had not thought such drives to be so strong as to affect you deeply.”

“Yet there have been instances in our history wherein members of our family indulged in such affairs,” Imrahil remarked. “We have all heard the rumors despite the attempts to suppress them.”

His children nodded somberly. “So that is why you grieve so heartily,” Lothíriel said softly. “He is leaving and you will lose one you love once more. As you did Mother.”

“If only it were as simple as that,” Imrahil sighed. “There is more to this affair than even I had expected. I have already come to a decision regarding this matter, but I would have your blessing first. If you can bear to give it.”

Lothíriel gazed at him then reached for his hand and, with a slight tug, urged him to sit between her and Elphir. Heartened by this implicit show of support, he quietly and succinctly told them all. The sun had begun to sink when he was done. Both stared at him in mingled awe and astonishment. It was another several minutes before either could give voice to their raucous thoughts.

“Why did you choose to speak only to Lothíriel and me?” Elphir asked at length in an apparent attempt to stall for time.

Imrahil smiled wanly at him. “Because I was not certain how your brothers would react,” he confessed. “As you said earlier, you have studied our history quite thoroughly. You are no longer ignorant of what elven nature can entail.” He looked at his daughter in turn. “And you, dear child, have kept frequent company with Queen Arwen these many years. I assumed, correctly I hope, that you would be cognizant by now of this same matter.”

Lothíriel nodded. “We have indeed spoken of this, Arwen and I,” she replied.

“And how do you and Elphir now feel about this? About me?” Imrahil cautiously asked.

Elphir shook his head. “I will not deny that it causes me some discomfort to know that you and he—” He did not continue that line of thought, but said instead, “Nevertheless, I would not begrudge you what happiness he has given you, my lord.”

“Nor I,” Lothíriel averred. “Ever have you put our joy and comfort before yours, Father. How could we judge you now and think you wanting?” She took Imrahil’s hand and kissed it reverently. “May I assume that you desire to join him?” she asked.

Imrahil’s calm façade faltered at last. “I do,” he whispered. “And yet it pains me terribly to sunder myself from all of you. As I will should I pass over sea with him.”

“But you belong to him, don’t you?” Elphir murmured. “As he belongs to you.”

The prince nodded, eyes on the gold band on his finger. “I have struggled with this choice since he told me of it,” he painfully revealed. “I had thought my heart so torn as to be unable to make a wise decision. But since he left I have come to realize ‘tis not a matter of wisdom, but of feelings.” He looked at his son and daughter with sadness. “I have not felt whole since his leaving,” he said. “Not even with your mother did I feel this terrible emptiness that cannot be filled.”

“Not even by us?” Lothíriel tenderly said. No hint of hurt or accusation tainted her utterance. At seeing the guilt-stricken expression on her father’s countenance, she hastened to say, “I understand, Father. I would feel the same way were I to lose Éomer. Not even our children would be enough to assuage my grief. ‘Tis not a transgression against us for you to feel thusly about Lord Elladan.” She glanced at Elphir.

The crown prince pursed his lips, then took his sire’s other hand. “You have always stood by me even in my vilest moments,” he said. “I could not ask for a better father. It saddens me deeply that we will not meet again even in the next life. But I would grieve even more to watch you slowly fade from sorrow and loneliness and needlessly at that. Do not tarry here, Father, but seize this blessing the Powers have gifted upon you.”

Imrahil felt his heart swell with immense love and gratitude and he hugged them both tightly. For the longest while, they remained tenderly entwined, savoring the familial bond that would always hold them together no matter where fate led them. Imrahil took a steadying breath and realized only then that his cheeks were wet with tears. As were Elphir and Lothíriel’s.

“Will Erchirion and Amrothos accept this?” he murmured.

Elphir considered it gravely. Finally he said, “Amrothos will no doubt feel discomfort as well but, aye, he will accept it. As for Erchirion—it will be hard for him, my lord. He has ever been the least open amongst us to new thoughts and strange traditions. But I believe he will stand by you regardless of his misgivings. Out of love for you if nothing else.”

Lothíriel suddenly gasped in alarm. “But Father, you have already tarried here too long!” she exclaimed. “Lord Elladan said you had to join him in Rivendell ere the end of August and here it is already a week into the month!”

Elphir frowned worriedly. “She is right,” he said. “Even did you ride without stopping you would still not reach Rivendell in time.”

Imrahil shook his head. “I am well aware of that,” he replied. “I was thinking of going straight to Lindon.”

Elphir was even more perplexed. “But that is further away,” he protested. “‘Tis even less likely that you will catch up with him.”

“If I go by land,” Imrahil agreed. “But I mean to take another route to the Havens.”

He glanced out the window. Further out to sea, too vast a vessel to enter the harbor, lay the royal flagship. “I cannot simply disappear without a plausible _and_ acceptable explanation for our people’s consumption,” he pointed out. “And I would not have your succession clouded by an unsolved mystery.”

Elphir stared at him in dawning comprehension. “I see your point, my lord,” he said. “In that case, we will accompany you.”

“You will?” Imrahil echoed in surprise.

“Most assuredly,” Lothíriel said, swiftly picking up on the nuances of their exchange. “We would rather part from you later than sooner.”

“And it will aid us in responding in the correct manner afterwards,” Elphir added.

Imrahil gazed at them with amazement. “Forgive me,” he said regretfully. “I should have trusted you to understand.”

“Nay, my lord, there is nothing to forgive,” Lothíriel asserted. “Your fear was understandable. Let us put that behind us and see to your great journey.” Her voice broke as she finished. Of a sudden, she threw her arms around her father’s neck and sobbed. “Oh, Father, we will miss you so!” she wept.

Imrahil felt his tears flow once more as he held his daughter tightly. Elphir leaned his head against his shoulder and he knew his eldest wept as well. Yet both would willingly pay the price for his eternal joy and contentment. He thought himself blessed indeed to have begotten such loyal and tender offspring, as well as known two great loves in his lifetime. It was so much more than any man could ask for.

**********************  
Glossary:  
Úrimë – Quenya for August  
Úrui – Sindarin for August

_To be continued…_


	19. Voyage

Mithlond, _Yavannië_ F.A. 34  
The white ship no longer lay quiescent in the harbor. It was about to begin its journey into the uttermost West. Elven mariners hurried to and fro unfurling its snowy sails and securing the riggings. Many of the passengers had boarded the vessel as early as the afternoon. Few wished to tarry now that the hour of departure was at hand.

Neither as tall nor bulky as human vessels tended to be, the ship’s lines were stately and elegant, its structure deceptively delicate looking, and its speed surprisingly fleet. As the sun slowly sank towards the far horizon, the ocean-borne breezes waxed and caught at its graceful sails.

The mood on board was subdued for the most part. After all, most of the travellers were not of the Exiles of the First Age returning home at last, but Elves born and bred in Middle-earth leaving the only home they had ever known to make their eternal abodes in a land only known to them through tales and lore. And so there was as much melancholy as there was wonder about this voyage to the West.

On the spacious deck, Elrohir spoke for a while with Círdan, discussing the estimated length of the journey, before he returned to Elladan’s side where he stood at the stern.

Elladan stared unseeingly at the quay where a few Elves still lingered. This ship would not be the last to sail from the Hither Shores, but it would be the last to be designed and built by Círdan himself. A goodly number of the venerable shipwright’s people had chosen to stay on. They would remain until no more Elves sought the Havens. Then they would forsake Mithlond and leave Middle-earth to seek the shores of Valinor.

Elrohir slipped a protective arm around his twin’s shoulders and frowned at their lessened width. Elladan was thinner than his wont, the angles of his sculpted face quite pronounced. It pained Elrohir, seeing this blatant evidence of his brother’s grief. Elladan had not fared well at all since they left Imladris. He had received no word from Imrahil of yea or nay.

Elrohir wondered in frustration about that. He agreed with Legolas’s assessment of the Belfalas lord’s character. Therefore it was puzzling that Imrahil had not contacted Elladan about his decision. Puzzling and worrying. 

What if Imrahil had chosen to join them but had been delayed? What could be more devastating for both him and Elladan were it to turn out that he had attempted to come to the older twin and been too late? Conversely, he may have decided otherwise, but dispatched his refusal later than was prudent. Either way, it did not help Elladan. This ignorance of Imrahil’s ultimate choice gnawed at him like a festering sore.

The Elf-knight took his brother’s hand in his, noting its leanness in contrast to his own. Was Elladan going to Valinor to live there or to die, he thought sorrowfully.

The ship slowly slipped down the long grey firth of Lune, leaving fabled Mithlond behind. Elrohir watched sadly as his brother’s eyes immediately lifted, gazing hopelessly at the quay where naught but Elves stood. And then he dropped them again and stared at his right hand and the gold band on its index finger. It was then that he seemed to slump in defeat, leaning against his twin for support. At once, Elrohir hugged him tightly.

Círdan looked at them with regret. He had delayed their departure to the end of September at Elrohir’s request. But he was unable to accommodate yet another delay. They were not the only Elves sailing West. 

Aside from the last of the Imladrin Elves, others had come from as far away as Eryn Lasgalen and East Lórien and arrived in the Havens with no provisions for a deferred departure. Much as he sympathized with Elrond’s older son, had indeed doted upon the brethren since their childhood days, he could not postpone the journey once again. He forced his attention away from them and kept a weather eye on the progress of his ship as it made its passage down the narrow inlet.

At last they came to the mouth of the firth and hit open water. Almost at once, the lookout hailed him urgently, gesturing to something in the distance. Curious, Círdan peered at the object his mariner had spotted. There, bearing down rapidly upon them from the south was a small but powerful craft, its sails billowing in the strong breeze. It was a boat such as used by men for sailing short distances and never far out to sea. A craft large enough only for perhaps three passengers at most.

He noticed a banner at the top of its slender mast. One glance with his keen eyes and he was gasping with shock. He turned sharply and looked at the brethren.

“Elrohir!” he shouted. “Look yonder!” He bellowed to his mariners to drop anchor immediately.

The younger twin looked up in surprise and stared in the direction the shipwright indicated. A moment later his eyes widened in as much shock as Círdan’s had earlier.

The banner fluttered proudly in the breeze, revealing the emblem on it. A ship and a silver swan on a blue field.

“Sweet Eru!” he exclaimed. “ _Gwaniuar_ ”—older twin—“he has come!”

Elladan peered at him in bewilderment before looking south as well. He caught his breath. As the elven ship came to a stop, the small craft neared it even more swiftly. At its helm was a most familiar figure. A man of exceptional height, elven slender yet broad of shoulders, with rich chestnut hair that glinted with red-gold flame in the burnished glow of the fading sun.

The older twin was all but frozen in place. Only when the boat at last came up alongside the ship and Elrohir tugged at his arm did he snap out of his daze. And then he was at the side of the ship, watching in disbelief as the mariners cast down lines and a rope ladder. While two scurried down to secure the small craft to the ship that it might be towed, the man climbed up the ladder with the speed and confidence of one who had long led a sea-farer’s life.

Elladan waited in almost fearful anticipation as Elrohir quickly introduced Imrahil to a pleased Círdan then led him to his twin. For a moment they looked at each other wordlessly. And then Elladan reached to touch the prince’s face, as if to ascertain that he was truly there.

“Am I still welcome?” Imrahil softly asked, slightly turning his face into the Elf’s palm.

“Oh Elbereth,” Elladan whispered. “You are truly here.” His stare turned incredulous. “You did not come all the way from Belfalas in that flimsy boat, did you?” he demanded with some dismay.

“‘Tis not a flimsy boat!” Imrahil protested, his seaman’s pride in his vessel spurring mild indignation. But he subsided almost at once and shook his head. “I am not so foolish as to risk coming here in a craft not suited to the purpose.” He gestured in the direction whence he had come. “I journeyed here in my flagship, but had it drop anchor several miles away. I then took my boat out, ostensibly for a leisurely jaunt.” He paused briefly. “A jaunt from which I will not return.”

Elrohir made a muffled exclamation. “You staged your own death,” he gasped.

“Aye,” Imrahil said. “My children and I did not deem it wise to let my true fate be known to our people. It has been several generations since my family has produced one of my longevity and youthfulness. It has been fodder for gossip and speculation for years in Belfalas. Were it not for Elessar and Queen Arwen, I would have long been suspected of indulgence in sorcery. I did not desire that such beliefs or suspicions should hound my children throughout their lives.” 

He shook his head. “But neither could I just abdicate and pass the title to Elphir while it was known that I still lived. ‘Tis not our way and to do so would have cast doubts upon my son’s right to rule Belfalas.” His eyes turned somber at the recollection of the last parting from his loved ones. “My children will return to Dol Amroth publicly grieving my loss but knowing in secret that I have cast my lot with you.”

“Your children joined you on the voyage here?” Elladan said in amazement.

Imrahil smiled wanly. “They did not want to bid me farewell too soon,” he admitted.

“But how can they be assured that you have joined us?”

Imrahil glanced to his right. The brethren turned as well. There, too far away for any man to see, obscured further by the curving coastline but visible to elvish sight, was a great many-masted vessel, the emblem of the Prince of Dol Amroth proud upon its flowing banner.

The brethren realized that while they could see the ship, its mortal crew could not see theirs. From such a distance and in the fast fading light of the day, the whiteness of the elven ship would be indistinct to human eyes. Save for Imrahil’s children. Blessed with the keen eyesight of their father, they would be able to discern the prince’s craft as it was towed behind the white ship. They would know their father had made it aboard.

“They accompanied you to make certain of your safety as well,” Elladan softly commented. Then he frowned. “But how did you know where to find the Havens or that you would reach me in time?”

Imrahil looked at him with some astonishment. “I centered on our bond,” he said. “I felt your presence and simply allowed my feelings to guide me. I could sense through you that the ship had left the dock. And I could feel you and your sadness at leaving. I am surprised you did not sense my closeness ... and you an Elf of long standing.”

Elladan blushed somewhat at the tacit gibe. Elrohir quickly spoke up lest his brother retort in less than friendly fashion. Elladan was oddly aloof. It reminded Elrohir of his twin’s cool reception when Imrahil visited Imladris unexpectedly. Almost at the same time, the man recalled the moment, too, and felt a twinge of uncertainty.

“He was distracted by other matters,” Elrohir reminded Imrahil. “Grief can blunt our sensitivity even to the bonds that hold us to each other.”

Imrahil stared at him, then at Elladan in sudden consternation.

Expecting a confrontation of sorts from the looks of Elladan’s stony expression, Elrohir quickly took measures to prevent a public display of displeasure. And very public it would be indeed judging from the number of curious gazes on them.

“I suggest you take Imrahil below,” he murmured to Elladan.

The older twin nodded and tilting his head in invitation to Imrahil, led the way to the cabins and the one he shared with Elrohir.

Imrahil wondered anxiously at Elladan’s behavior. His anxiety did not ease when the Elf silently shut the door behind them then walked away from him to stare out the wide window of the cabin to regard the vast expanse of sea beyond.

“Why did you not send me word at least, Imrahil?” Elladan asked finally, his voice low and hard.

Imrahil started at the accusatory tone. “I am sorry,” he said. “But in truth I did not come to my choice until it was too late for me to join you in Rivendell or to dispatch a letter. ‘Tis why I thought to come by sea instead.”

Elladan said no more but continued to stare out the window. Uneasy, Imrahil thought to speak again when he noticed Elladan’s hands where they hung at his side. Both were clenched and were trembling ever so slightly. Imrahil stared in dismay and dawning comprehension. His mate was angry. He took another look and noted how slender the Elf’s wrists were. Too slender.

He swallowed hard, suddenly understanding the depth of Elladan’s suffering because of his silence. He had actually begun to fade in his grief. And as he came to recognize the signs of his mate’s sorrow, he recalled Elladan’s demeanor in Dol Amroth while he had struggled with his choice. Guilt and remorse struck Imrahil hard.

'Even then he suffered, but kept it to himself lest he burdened me further,' he thought in belated cognition. 'And I was so caught up in my misery that I did not see it and offered him no solace in turn.'

He drew a shuddery breath. “Forgive me, Elladan,” he said hoarsely. “I did not mean to distress you so.”

His heart sank when Elladan made no reply, but seemed to grow even more distant. He wondered if he was indeed still welcome. The twin had not answered him when he came aboard, he realized with trepidation. 

The silence grew painful. Feeling his heart would burst from anguish, Imrahil made to leave the cabin. His ship would remain anchored until the following morning. He could still return to it. He wondered if he would ever muster the courage to admit to his children the reason for his return to them.

He came up short as Elladan swiftly blocked his way. “And where do you think you are going?” the Elf demanded.

“I—back to my ship,” Imrahil stammered, thoroughly unnerved by Elladan’s manner. Never had the Elf behaved this way toward him.

He gasped as he was pushed back almost roughly, Elladan’s hand on his chest brooking no resistance.

“If you think I am going to let you leave now,” Elladan growled, punctuating his statement with more shoves, "you are in serious need of more wit than you obviously possess!”

Another abrupt shove and the back of Imrahil’s knees caught at the edge of one of the berths. He fell back in a sprawl upon it. Staring in shock at the livid Elvenlord, he could barely find the coherence to protest.

“I don’t understand,” he sputtered. “You are angry and—”

His next words were peremptorily cut off by a kiss that took his breath away. Head swimming with mingled confusion and budding desire, he fought to steady himself. To no avail when he felt Elladan’s hands tear at his tunic, shirt and breeches, ripping all three open with no concern for clasps, lacings or fasteners. 

When the Elf released him from his befuddling kiss, it was only so that he could strip the man more efficiently and swiftly of his clothing. Imrahil looked at his Elf-mate in bewilderment as Elladan cast off his own raiment.

“Elladan, what—?”

“Shut up, _ernilen_ ”—my prince—“or I will do it for you!”

Imrahil said no more. In the first place, Elladan’s assault left him with little sentience to think at all let alone lucidly enough to say anything that would make sense. Secondly, he did not wish to rouse Elladan’s ire anew. Not that it was likely to return.

With every kiss and caress and meeting of their flesh, he felt his mate’s feelings flow with undammed force and it spoke of only one thing. Love. His apprehension regarding the Elf’s feelings toward him vanished. Whatever the cause of Elladan’s initial pique, it had faded away. He ceased to wonder about the earlier strain between them and focused instead on regaining the oneness he so treasured when with his Elven-spouse.

The sound of the waves lapping against the side of the ship, as it smoothly cut through the chill waters seemed a soothing symphony to his ears even as his body endured quite happily the delicious torment of an Elf’s loving.

He moaned as he was emphatically and numerously marked by brusquely questing lips and teeth. Elbereth! He would have to keep his neck, chest and arms concealed for the next few days if he did not wish to be subjected to the ribald gazes of the other Elves. Sharp nips at aching nipples wrought such pleasure that it was almost pain and wrenched yelps and groans from him.

His reactions only served to deepen Elladan’s desire. He hungrily suckled the prince’s rigid length, drawing at it so hardily that Imrahil could not be sure if he would survive long enough to reach Valinor. When his moment of release hit him, the prince verily howled his pleasure, unable to stifle it when Elladan milked him so greedily as to leave him as dry as a parched well in the middle of a Harad desert.

Gasping for breath, the fearful pounding of his heart loud in his head, Imrahil was in no condition to resist his mate’s continued ravaging of his person. Elladan gave him no time to recover his wits but drove hard into him and took him in hand with almost frightening ferocity.

Delved and stroked and vigorously loved within an inch of his life, Imrahil prayed his heart would not give out before Elladan was done with him. Then he remembered he no longer had a mortal heart that could give out. An eternity of such loving lay before him and his now immortal form would be more than able to accommodate it. Able and willing.

He groaned at the thought, torn between anticipation and dismay. Ecstasy spiralled within him until he was no longer aware of anything but the pounding thrusts that filled him to bursting and the grasping caresses that inflamed his already over-sensitized shaft. He felt it then, the rapid blossoming of sensation in his groin that portended a shattering climax. When it came, he did not even try to smother his vocal expressions of pleasure. It was useless when Elladan set his mind to rendering it useless.

The struggle to collect the scattered fragments of his sanity was further impeded by the sensations wrought by Elladan’s release and the feeling of liquid warmth spilling within him. He had never marked it before; it seemed his body had been refashioned to know this heady delight as well.

Silence reigned for several minutes afterwards as they lay together on the bunk, raven hair mingling freely with chestnut locks, long limbs entangled, warm bodies pressed close, alabaster skin against sun-kissed flesh. Imrahil lifted his head from a pale shoulder and looked at his lover. Elladan’s eyes were trained on the cream-hued ceiling from which an oil-lamp hung, swinging gently with the slight rocking motion of the ship.

“I am truly sorry for ignoring your needs,” Imrahil said in a hushed voice. “I do not blame you for your anger.”

Elladan blinked once then looked at him. “And I am sorry for once again giving you a less than gracious reception,” he murmured. “‘Tis only that— Valar, Imrahil, I thought you had declined the gift. I believed you lost to me forever.”

Imrahil reached for his hand and caressed the much too lean fingers before kissing each reverently. “You have grown thin, _meleth_ ”—love— he murmured repentantly. “And ‘tis my lack of resolve that did this to you.” He bit his lip. “You once said I was worth whatever pain came your way. I cannot imagine you still hold that true now.”

But Elladan clutched him even more snugly. “Nay, never believe that,” he protested. “You have ever been worth it, my precious prince. Even for the blessing of a mere season of your love would I have willingly endured eternity alone. To be gifted with your company for all time ... it fills me with such joy as I’d never thought possible for any being.” 

He kissed Imrahil ardently, letting his feelings flow so fervently that the man was left gasping in their wake. “I love you, Imrahil,” he whispered. “The Powers only know how much I love you.”

His heart singing with the fervor of a Valarian choir, Imrahil felt his own emotions surge forth between them. Elladan gasped in turn at the strength of those feelings, so forceful and clear now that Imrahil’s human essence had been stripped from him and replaced in full by the eternal flame of an elven spirit. He gazed at his once-human prince, grey eyes dancing with wonder, mouth curling into a rapturous smile.

Imrahil caught his breath at the sight of his lover’s happiness. Elladan looked more comely than ever, aglow as he was with his great felicity. Lust flared anew and his groin stirred swiftly into renewed evidence of it.

Eyes kindling with desire, he climbed atop Elladan and pressed him down onto the berth. “You have not properly welcomed me yet, _seron vell_ ”—beloved—he reminded his spouse. “At least, not in the way I had in mind.”

Elladan laughed softly. Imrahil felt the long legs part beneath him and come up to snake around his waist. Withy arms rose to enfold his shoulders and pull him down into a kiss that invited his pillaging.

Some heart-stopping minutes later, as he blissfully sheathed himself in Elladan’s silken warmth, he heard the Elf’s whispered words against his cheek. “You will always be welcome, my heart. Now and in all the ages to come.”

* * * *

The sun was just rising when the white ship approached the distant shores of the Undying Lands. Elves crowded the deck in their excitement to come to the ancient abode of their kindred and relief to have arrived without further incident.

The brethren and Imrahil stood together at the prow, gazing in wonder as their eyes fell upon the isle of Tol Erresëa ere they saw the pristine beaches of Valinor beyond. Imrahil breathed in deeply, inhaling a fragrance such as he had never imagined could exist. He looked at the twins and smiled with delight. They grinned back at him. Elladan threw an arm around his brother’s shoulder and caught hold of his spouse’s hand, entwining their fingers as he did.

Together they looked upon the vast green land that slowly unveiled its beauty and wonders to their searching eyes. Their voyage was at an end. They had reached their eternal home at last.

***************************  
Glossary:  
Yavannië – Quenya for September

_To be concluded…_


	20. Fate

The Blessed Realm, F.A. 121  
Elves flocked to the shores of Eldamar as soon as word came from the lookouts on Tol Eressëa just before dusk. The arrival of the grey ship had been heralded days before by the Elven mariners who dared to sail as far into eastern waters as the Valar allowed them. Those who sought to welcome the latest arrivals from Middle-earth had come to Alqualondë in the days that followed.

Eager eyes watched the ship’s progress as it passed beneath the natural arch at the entrance to the harbor and neared the lamp-lit quay. It gracefully came to dock, its anchor was dropped and the gangplank lowered to the quay.

Many an Elf hastened down the board, eyes wide with wonder, before each was engulfed in the arms of waiting kith and kin. These were the last of the denizens of Lindon, Greenwood, East Lórien and Ithilien to take the Straight Road to the West. No longer would elven ships ply the seas from the Outer Lands to Valinor. Those who had chosen to remain behind would dwindle and fade and become a matter of lore and legend to the ascendant race of Men.

The sounds of laughter and weeping filled the twilight quiet as sundered couples or families were reunited at last.

A hush descended on the crowd when a golden-haired Elf of proud and noble bearing made his way down to the quay, two like-countenanced _ellyn_ —male Elves—behind him. Three lovely females hurried to meet them. A moment later, the last Elvenking of Eryn Lasgalen held fast in his arms the beloved wife he had lost a thousand years ago while his daughters, whom he had sent ahead to Aman to get them out of harm’s way, clung to him and their brothers in happy tears.

The onlookers were soon distracted when a short and bearded figure gingerly traversed the plank and stepped onto the wharf. He bellowed in protest as he was summarily buried beneath three exuberant hobbits, each greeting him with delight and all at the same time. Gimli son of Glóin could scarcely separate one from the other and at last begged the elated Bagginses, Bilbo and Frodo, and a merry Samwise Gamgee to speak one at a time.

While Dwarf and hobbits chattered away as they walked towards a smiling Lord Elrond and Lady Celebrían, an Elf-lady of surpassing beauty detached herself from the crowd, momentarily causing said Dwarf to gape at her in speechlessness. She spoke graciously in welcome to the thunderstruck Gimli before lifting her shining eyes to the tall, silver-crowned Elf who had just stepped off the ship.

Galadriel cast dignity to the wind and flew into her husband’s arms, lifting her mouth eagerly to his hungry lips. For nigh six score years she had been parted from Celeborn; it had seemed much longer for a couple that had seldom been parted in all their millennia of blissful marriage. They only reluctantly parted that she might lead him to their faithful Galadhrim who had awaited their lord’s homecoming with her all these years.

Last to descend from the ship was a lissome Elf of a comeliness and incandescence rarely seen even in the Blessed Realm. His silver-gold hair gleamed with unearthly light in the glow of the quay lamps; his skin was a wondrous alabaster, his features as delicate as dawn but limned with strength and purpose. Small wonder that many gazed upon him with sudden admiration and desire. But he cared not for any but the handsome argent-eyed Elf who approached him with a smile that snatched the very breath from his breast.

Legolas quickly closed the distance between them and flung his arms around Elrohir. Joyful tears slid down his pale cheeks as he was kissed and held and claimed anew by his incomparable Elf-knight. He slid his hands up to cup his darkling spouse’s face and scattered yearning kisses upon his fair countenance.

“Never again,” he declared fervently. “I will not be parted from you again, Elrohir. ‘Twas nearly more than I could bear, waiting all these years.”

Elrohir clutched him hard to him, crushing his mouth to his once more. “Never again, my Greenleaf,” he whispered in between the searing unions of their lips.

Legolas closed his eyes in rapture when Elrohir pressed kisses to his cheeks and jaw and throat, running his hands almost feverishly through the silk of his mate’s sable locks. A tap on their shoulders caused them to break their much-too ardent embrace and they grudgingly looked up into Elladan’s mirthful eyes.

“Really, _gwanneth_ ”—younger twin—“do you plan to couple right here on the quay?” he snickered. “Surely your bedchamber will be much more comfortable. Not to mention private!”

The reunited lovers glanced back, saw the surreptitiously watching spectators, and laughed ruefully at having provided more than ample entertainment for the ribald of mind. After one more needful kiss, they untangled themselves and slipped their arms around each other’s waist instead. They followed Elladan up to where family and friends had gathered on the stone-paved promenade before the seaward gate of the city of the Teleri.

Legolas wordlessly slid into the embrace of the mother he had never truly known and held her close, she savoring this first blossoming of filial love however belated, he basking in the inimitable warmth of her maternal devotion. He only barely managed to endure his sisters’ ever-protective hugs. He was a seasoned warrior and a veteran of the Great War but he would always be their youngest brother, the babe of their family.

He returned to Elrohir’s arms and was steered to meet his Elf-knight’s kin in turn. Elrond and Celebrían welcomed him with much affection, as did Glorfindel and Erestor and other members of Elrond’s household. He turned to greet the last Elf in the group by whose side Elladan stood.

Legolas gasped in disbelief. “Imrahil!” he exclaimed.

He and the Belfalas prince embraced heartily, Imrahil chuckling at Legolas’s patent delight. The Wood-elf drew back and stared at his friend in wonder.

Outwardly, Imrahil had not changed. He was still the most comely male the race of Men had produced since the First Age. And he still bore the marks of his human ancestry—the broad shoulders, the sun-kissed skin, the less distinct tips of his ears. But the light in the depths of the grey tinged aquamarine eyes was undimmed and would be forever so. He was no more a man than Gimli was an Elf.

Clad in the raiment of the Eldar, his hair pulled back and plaited in the manner of Elrond’s sons, he appeared as he had been fated to be. A true Peredhel.

“Thank Eru your children’s tale was true!” Legolas remarked with heartfelt relief.

Imrahil smiled. “Did they reveal the truth to any other?” he asked.

“Only to Faramir. But when they came to realize our kinship by marriage, they chose to confide in me as well.”

“When did they tell you?”

“As soon as the news of your death reached Minas Tirith, I journeyed at once to Dol Amroth to express my condolences to your family.” Legolas eyed the prince with some amazement. “I truly thought the news true—that you had been lost at sea while on a leisurely cruise along the coast with your children. I grieved not only for you, but for Elladan as well.” He glanced at his grinning law-brother. “A waste of good tears, I must say!” he added with a snort. “It was then that Elphir and Faramir took me aside and revealed to me what had truly passed.”

“Did you not believe them?” Elladan prodded.

Legolas laughed. “I wanted to!” he rejoined. “But as Imrahil never sent word to you of his intentions ... I confess I was not certain what to make of their story.”

Imrahil held up his hands in supplication. “I have been repeatedly reminded during the last several decades of the importance of keeping in touch!” he exclaimed. “Please, I cannot take yet another reproach on the matter.”

The twins chortled at his discomfiture.

“And how does Eldarion fare?” Elladan thought to ask, mirth fading to be replaced by melancholy.

Elrohir, too, subsided as the realization of their foster brother now laid to rest cast a somber pall over them.

“He was more than ready to take up the rule of Gondor,” Legolas quietly said. “Aragorn was at peace when he passed away.” He glanced at the twins’ parents who were at the moment engaged in conversation with Celeborn, Galadriel and Thranduil. His eyes turned sad. “I cannot say the same for Arwen,” he added, lowering his voice. “She departed for Lórien after Eldarion’s coronation and I received no further news of her ere I sailed from Ithilien. But I doubt she will linger past this winter. Her grief is too great.”

The brethren stared at him in shared sorrow. They instinctively clasped hands in mutual solace, unable to speak for a while.

“Does Grandfather know?” Elladan finally asked, looking at Celeborn.

Legolas shook his head. “Nay, Arwen asked me never to speak of this to any save you,” he said. “I was the only Elf present when she left Minas Tirith and only I of our folk bade her farewell.” He sighed. “Lord Celeborn and my father joined me in Ithilien just before we set sail and all I told them was that she passed away soon after Aragorn. I did not say she was long gone from the city. Did I do ill in keeping this secret?” he added anxiously.

“Do not fault yourself, _gwanur_ ”—kinsman—Elladan reassured him. “‘Twas Arwen’s wish and you abided by it.

“And she was right to keep _Adar_ and _Naneth_ from knowing the manner of her passing,” Elrohir murmured. “It would only break their hearts.”

After a pensive moment, Imrahil cleared his throat.

“And Dol Amroth?” he softly asked. “Did Elphir prove a worthy prince?”

“Aye, Imrahil,” Legolas said. “Your people grieved his passing as much as they grieved yours.” He hesitated, seeing the spasm of grief that shook Imrahil’s tall frame. “Alphros’s son now rules in Belfalas.”

Imrahil shuddered at the implicit news of his children and most of his grandchildren’s departure from the world. His eyes turned to the east, to where the Hither Lands lay. They glistened tellingly. He bit his lip, trying to still their sudden trembling.

He felt Elladan’s hand slip into his and turned to look at his spouse. The older twin’s eyes gleamed with unshed tears, too, as he shared his mate’s sorrow.

“Do you regret your choice?” Elladan asked quietly.

Imrahil drew a deep breath. He shook his head and pressed a gentle kiss to Elladan’s lips.

“You are my choice, _meleth_ ”—love—he said. “I could never regret you.”

Elladan drew him into a hardy embrace and a fierce and lengthy kiss. This time, it was Elrohir who snickered through his incipient tears and chided him.

“You had best heed your own counsel, _tôr iuar_ ”—older brother—“and seek your bedchamber,” he gibed. “Unless you have it in mind to provide more fodder for gossip than you have already done these past eighty-five years?”

Legolas glanced at him, sadness forgotten for the moment. “Fodder for gossip?” he echoed. “Why? Whatever have they done to merit such attention?”

“What you and Elrohir will likely do now that you are together once more,” Elladan retorted with a knowing grin. He looked at his twin. “Let us see who will provide more fodder hence, brother mine. You and Legolas were not known for discretion either in all your time together in Middle-earth.”

Elrohir’s eyes narrowed. “Are you warning us to be more discreet?” he inquired. “Or challenging us to best you?”

Imrahil groaned and shook his head. “If there is one thing I rue about being a member of the family, ‘tis this remarkable indifference to public opinion that you all seem to possess!” he said with a hint of exasperation. He cast a fleeting but jaundiced glance at Elrond. “Even your father cares little about restraint in matters of love-play. Never have I blushed as giddily as an adolescent in all my life as I have in your dubious company!”

Legolas laughed and patted his beleaguered binding-brother’s shoulder comfortingly. “You will get used to it, _gwanur_ ,” he said. “In another hundred years or so.”

He laughed harder as Imrahil groaned again. At length, he slipped his arm around Elrohir’s waist and bent to lightly bite his neck.

“I would have you welcome me properly, _melethron_ ”—lover—he murmured. “Shall we retire to our bedchamber as Elladan suggested?”

Elrohir hastily suppressed the impulse to pounce on Legolas and there and then give truth to Elladan’s words ere his golden prince had even settled in.

“Not only our chamber, but our own home,” he told Legolas. “‘Tis but a few paces away from Elladan and Imrahil’s abode. I have kept it in readiness all these years.” His eyes darkened considerably as he led his eager woodland spouse away.

Elladan grinned as he watched them leave, arm in arm. He turned to regard Imrahil and waited a moment while his mate looked one last time to the east.

“Imrahil?”

The once-prince of Dol Amroth gazed a while longer at the sea beyond before turning back to him. Then Imrahil smiled, his eyes alight with the joy and contentment of one who knows he is cherished beyond compare. He slipped into Elladan’s waiting arms.

“Let us go home, _seron vell_ ,” Imrahil said.

************************  
Glossary:  
Edhil – Elves  
Adar – Father  
Naneth - Mother  
seron vell -beloved

_The End_


End file.
